


Ribs

by caleco



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Eating Disorders, F/F, F/M, High School, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Smut, Teen Angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-09-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:35:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 29,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23853184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caleco/pseuds/caleco
Summary: Sansa is struggling with a perfectionist ideal that controls her entire being; Arya is trying to keep a hold on her wild lifestyle before it eats her whole.It feels so scary, getting old.
Relationships: Arya Stark/Gendry Waters, Jon Snow/Sansa Stark, Tormund Giantsbane/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 61
Kudos: 162





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> With the quarantine, I’ve been watching a ton of television, especially high school dramas. I felt like we needed a Skins/Euphoria/Freaks and Geeks sort of dark, angsts AU, so here we are.
> 
> The title of the fic (and the last line of the summary) comes from Ribs by Lorde, which is such an amazing song for teenage feels. Go give it a listen.
> 
> I’ll be making each chapter a title of a song I thought fits or just simply gave me writing inspiration. This one is So Sad, So Sad by Varsity.
> 
> As always, read and enjoy!

Sansa Stark pushed a stray hair out of her way as she landed, a broad, fake grin on her face as she focused on the crowd in front of her.

They were hardly paying attention to her squad, but that wasn’t a surprise. The field behind them was buzzing with activity, some new pass causing the crowd to scream. With her back turned, she wasn’t sure if the response was angry or elated, and she honestly didn’t care.

Her stomach rumbled again, and she fought the urge to press her palm against it. It was gnawing at her, like always, but she kept her smile broad. Red lipstick, white teeth, model smile, courtesy of her mother’s genes.

Sansa Stark was nothing if not picture perfect.

“Pyramid?” Jeyne said from beside her. She had the same broad smile on her face, the sweat beading at her brows, caught by the stadium lights. Her brunette hair was pulled into a severe ponytail, accenting the pretty curves of her face.

“Not yet.” Sansa muttered to her co-captain, who shrugged.

Jeyne instead launched into a new chant, the other girls falling in step around her. 

Sansa’s stomach growled again, masked by the roar around them. She could feel it, though, vibrating through her. 

She swallowed it down, painting over the discomfort with her brightest smile.

By the time the game was over, the Kings Landing Lions had lost by a measly few points. 

Sansa could see her boyfriend from across the field, could see the lines of tension in his shoulders, the most obvious sign that he was pissed off. The star quarterback for the Lions was the golden boy of the entire school, having most of the population eating out of his hand.

Sansa included. 

Joffrey Baratheon was the closest thing Sansa could get to perfection in her mother’s eyes. He was filthy rich, for one; her parents and his met regularly for dinners throughout the year. They were stiff occasions, shoving all of the Stark children into their finest ware just to sit around the table and have Robert Baratheon recall yet another memory of some past fling to her father. 

He was also the most popular senior at Kings Landing, past maybe Sansa’s brother. But they didn’t talk about Robb when Joffrey was around, and Sansa was completely fine with that. Pleased, even.

And Catelyn Stark had made it abundantly clear, ever since Sansa had met Joffrey at just five years old, that he was _the one._

He was handsome enough, rich enough, powerful enough. That’s what everyone said, and that was what mattered, wasn’t it? 

Joff’s parents were out that night for whatever reason- probably some ritzy dinner, for some generic, greedy cooperation- and they’d been planning on her spending the night after the game. But he didn’t so much as look at her as he stalked off the field, towards the locker rooms.

Sansa tried to shrug it off. Maybe he was just wanting to get out of his gear as soon as possible. She couldn’t blame him- the colder it got on the field, the crowd beginning to dissipate, the more the fall air began to prick at her bare legs.

“Still on to stay at my place tomorrow?” Jeyne asked as they packed up their gear. 

“Yeah, of course.” Sansa said, though in truth she’d almost forgotten.

She’d been staying with a lot of people lately. Whatever got her out of the house the longest, away from her parents. It wasn’t like they were there much anyways, always traveling around for some bullshit or another, but when they were there, she couldn’t stand it.

Sansa waved goodbye to Jeyne, sitting back on the cheerleader’s bench. One of their junior girls, Missandei, gave her a sweet wave as she walked away, leaving Sansa alone by the field.

She waited another five minutes, eyeing the locker room. She bit her lip anxiously as the time went on. 

Finally, she shot him a quick text, hoping she wasn’t too whiny and desperate. She got that way sometimes, he’d told her.

_Hey, are you still here?_

She waited a few more minutes, drumming on the metal bench beneath her.

Finally, her phone dinged, and she jumped at the sound.

_Gonna spend night with friends_

Sansa tried not to let that sting, but it did anyways. She knew whatever she and Joffrey had was more out of necessity than anything- he needed a pretty showpiece like she needed a successful man- but she still always felt inadequate.

It wouldn’t have happened to Robb, she thought. Her twin brother had never once been looked over, the girls always plentiful and abundant for him. His current girlfriend treated him like he was a god, and to most of Kings Landing, he was.

She could almost hear her mother in her ear. _Maybe if you hadn't looked so bloated tonight…._

She felt her stomach growl again, but this time it was accompanied with more nausea than anything. She _knew_ she should’ve started her new diet earlier. She could’ve sworn she felt her crop top sit tighter on her body today, the stitching for the Lions mascot pressing firmer into her chest.

Sansa bit back tears, throwing her phone into her gym bag.

“You okay?” A voice said.

Sansa jumped up quickly, her first instinct to shove her hand into her gym bag, scrambling for the pepper spray she always carried. She’d never used it before, and had hoped she’d never had to- but on an empty football field, late Friday night, she was feeling unsure.

To the right of the cheerleaders’ bench was another student- a senior, if she remembered correctly. Looking over his curly mess of black hair, the muscles straining in his white t-shirt, Sansa flushed a bit.

 _Freaks._ It was what Joffrey always called that group of people.

This one had a freshly-lit cigarette in his hand, leaning against the rail of the home bleachers. She wasn’t sure how long he’d been there, but it had to have been a few minutes.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Sansa said, pulling her gym bag more over her shoulder as she eyed him.

Even if he was a freak, he was hot. Sansa had to give him that- when he went for another drag of his cigarette, she noticed his strong jawline and dark, dark eyes.

Her mom would absolutely hate him.

“Your boy leave you?” He asked, and Sansa stiffened.

“Do I know you?” She shot back, but he just smiled at her, shaking his head like she wasn’t in on his joke. 

“Who doesn’t know Miss Sansa Stark?” He asked, a lopsided, sharp grin on his face. Sansa didn’t feel like it was friendly.

“He didn’t _leave_ me.” Sansa snapped back, gripping her bag harder. “He just…. Something came up.”

“Sure,” He said, stubbing out his cigarette on the bleachers. It went out without a fight, the last few sparks falling to the ground at his feet.

“You need a ride?” He asked, catching her off guard.

“I-” She started, about to reject him. But then she started thinking harder- there was no way in hell she’d call Robb for a ride. Not only had he just lost a football game, but she could also picture him pitying her, left by her boyfriend once again.

It made her angry, clenching her fists until her nails left little marks. 

She couldn’t call any of her cheerleader friends, either- they’d just gossip about it, spread it around the school the _poor Sansa Stark can’t get her boyfriend to give two shits about her._

Sansa wished that she had learned to drive. Joffrey had assured her that she’d never need to learn how, not with him always there to drive.

That had aged well.

But this was one of the freaks, actually being _nice_ to her. Who could he even gossip to? Who would _care_ what he said?

“Yes please.” Sansa said finally, channeling as much of her mother’s manners as she could in the moment.

The boy just shook his head, his curls falling around his face as he chuckled. Sansa frowned, feeling judged.

“I’m Jon, by the way.” He told her, gesturing for her to follow. She definitely hadn’t known his name, but she refused to feel bad about that. What was she supposed to do? Memorize the name of every one of the freaks on campus?

They knew her, but that was to be expected. _Everyone_ knew her.

“I’m surprised you’re at the game.” Sansa said after a second, trying to find some sort of conversation to not make it painfully awkward.

“It’s fun to watch the people.” Jon said, giving her a look that made her regret asking.

“And what? Judge them?” Sansa said, immediately wishing she could shove the words back in her mouth. He was being nice, offering her a ride when she hadn’t ever looked his way.

To her surprise, he just chuckled, “Isn’t that your job?”

Sansa scowled at that, gritting her teeth. She started trying to estimate the distance between her house and the school.

“Sorry, guess this is a ceasefire.” Jon said after a moment, flashing her a smile of surprisingly white teeth. Sansa wondered how he’d ended up lumped with the freaks in the school- if she hadn't known that, she would’ve guessed he was popular by looks alone.

She saw the truck he was leading her towards, a dark red, old rusty thing, and she supposed maybe _that_ was part of the reason why.

“I’m sure it’s not what you’re used to….” Jon said, and for a moment she thought she could hear a tiny bit of embarrassment in his voice, hidden under a faked bravado. Maybe he had a little bit of shame, covered by layers of defensiveness.

Sansa chose not to answer, because he wasn’t wrong. It definitely wasn’t what she was used to, but it was better than walking exactly 5.83 miles back to her house.

When she slipped into the passenger seat, she felt the cracked, wrinkled leather seats, and was immediately surrounded with the smell of cigarettes.

She felt her fingers twitch, the want in her chest.

After she buckled, she turned to see Jon fishing another cigarette from the pocket of his dark jeans, his fingers fumbling around.

He caught her eyes, and she realized just how close they were- she could see faint freckles on his nose, marring his otherwise pale skin. His eyes were darker than she’d imagined, and they were twinged with a dark humor.

“Sorry, forgot to ask. Want one?” Jon asked, holding out a slim cigarette between his long fingers. He had that look on his face, the bit of humor that she knew was at her expense.

But he didn’t even _know._

Sansa took the cigarette from his hands, keeping his eyes. She hadn’t smoked in weeks, but gods, did she miss it. It wasn’t _becoming_ of a lady, her mother said, even though she’d been the woman who had first introduced it to her. 

Jon laughed, taken aback by her choice. 

But then he flicked out a lighter, and she held the cigarette between her lips to let him light it.

In all honesty, if Joffrey had seen her then, he probably would’ve punched her again, like he’d drunkenly done on last Fourth of July. Probably call her a slut, too, but she heard that one a lot more often from him.

And with how Jon was looking at her, she kinda felt like it, too.

She took a drag of the cigarette, leaning her arm out of the window as Jon began to back out of the parking lot.

“So, anything else surprising about you?” Jon asked, giving her a sly look. He one arm resting out of his window, the other lazily gripping the steering wheel. Sansa pulled down her cheerleading uniform, feeling the material ride up her stomach after her last drag. He didn’t bother to hide his interest.

“Nope.” Sansa said, popping the word as it came from her lips. She knew it sounded sad and self-deprecating, two things her mother said definitely Did Not Attract Boys. But Jon was nowhere on the list of prospective suitors, so she didn’t mind telling him she was boring as fuck.

“I’m doubting that.” Jon replied, taking another drag of his cigarette.

“Sorry to disappoint.” She offered back. 

“When’d you start smoking?” Jon asked, nodding his head to her hand. Sansa tried to shrug it off, but she knew that she’d made it apparent that this wasn’t a one-time thing. It _certainly_ wasn’t a first-time thing.

She weighed the options in her head, and finally decided on an apathetic _screw it_.

“It suppresses your appetite.” Sansa said, the first truth she’d said in a while. 

“Should’ve known.” Jon laughed, and Sansa was relieved to not hear the pity. There wasn’t anything about Jon that seemed to pity her, to want to help her, and that was fucking divine. He wasn’t apologetic about being messed-up, so he couldn’t possibly judge her in the first place.

“Any party to drop you off at?” Jon asked after a long pause, eyeing her.

Sansa shook her head. “Boyfriend forgot about me, remember?”

It was refreshing to say aloud. No more excuses, no more fake scenarios to make it seem okay.

“Well,” Jon said, drumming his fingertips on the wheel. “If you want to get drunk off your ass, we’re having a party.”

“A freak party?” Sansa said, before she could stop herself.

But Jon didn’t even wince. She supposed he heard that, a lot.

“We just call it a party.” Jon said, giving her a bemused smirk, like she was the one who should be embarrassed at the slip. She blushed red despite herself, feeling silly. If she showed up at the party, _she’d_ be the freak to them. 

But alcohol sounded damn good. And the last place she wanted to be right now was home- her mother was in town this weekend, and the last thing she wanted was to have to explain to her mom why she wasn’t with Joffrey, and feel worthless all over again.

Even more, she was _sure_ that Robb was out with his friends, having fun. And she was positive that her mother would say just that, too, another comparison that would sting at her for weeks.

“Yeah.” Sansa said after a second, deciding quickly. “A party sounds good.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song for this chapter is from You Are Going to Hate This by the Frights! It seemed like an Arya song.

Arya Stark was definitely not at the football game that Friday night.

Her parents had stopped urging her to go years ago, yet another failed attempt to make her into the perfect cookie-cutter daughter. It made Arya laugh, really, because she came out of the womb destined to be short and flat as a fucking board, with a plain face to match. She was never going to be a Sansa, and it was almost funny that her parents were delusional enough to try and make it work.

She was still at home when Sansa and Robb left the house, hurrying off to the game. She heard her mom muttering downstairs, bitching about something or another. Arya had stopped talking to her parents a long time ago, and luckily, they were gone most of the time anyways. 

Arya was closer to their maid than she was to them, which was even funnier when you considered the fact that she faintly resembled the maid. Both plain, stick straight brown hair and a slim build. If she didn’t know better, she’d assume that the maid was her mom.

But she wasn’t. Arya had really, really hoped, but multiple investigations showed that she was in fact still the spawn of Catelyn Stark. Life sucked like that.

She wasn’t planning on staying inside the whole night, though. She was already flipping through her phone, looking for _that_ app.

The best thing about her parents was that they truly did not give a fuck. Like, not one single fuck. Arya was pretty sure she could murder-suicide herself and all of her siblings and Ned and Catelyn would find out about it exactly three weeks later, when Cat realized she forgot her favorite eye cream at home.

Which made Arya’s _adventures_ a little more interesting.

She started flipping through the photos, skimming through a few of the profiles. It was always active on a Friday night, filled with all of the men that would make her father shudder. 

Truth be told, most of them were her father’s age, but trying to decode _that_ would take years of therapy that Arya did not have the time nor patience for.

She started meeting up with them a few months ago, because why not? She’d had her own experiences with a few of the guys at school, just quick fumblings that left her more irritated and strung out than anything. She’d quickly realized she wasn’t looking for a boy.

She also had certain tastes, too. She realize _that_ when Mycah had accidentally pressed his forearm into her throat, in a clumsy boyish accident that should in no way of been excited. But yeah. It definitely, definitely was.

Her first hookup had been okay. Amazing, if compared to her past standards, but _meh_ when compared to what she really wanted, which was please-for-the-love-of-god-not-vanilla.

She wasn’t Sansa. She didn’t want some frilly love story with a bed of rose petals and wine and chocolate covered strawberries. She wanted to get fucked, to get mad, to feel something. Simple as that.

She hovered over a profile, her finger stopping at the last moment.

He was obviously older, hiding most of his face save for a greying, cleanly trimmed beard. He wasn’t just ripped with muscles, but he seemed lean and fit, and Arya raised an eyebrow, moving on to read his profile.

With a grin on her face, she messaged him.

_You up for anything tonight?_

\-------------

Arya found herself outside a surprisingly clean motel, two hours later.

She’d been to a few sleazy motels, the first few times. She’d expected it, of course- that was part of the charm, wasn’t it? Just another thing to add to the list of Things That Would Make My Dad Cry.

Arya approached Room 212, smoothing out her dress. It was a slinky, simple black thing. It accented her slender form, but also showed off the wiry muscles she’d gained after her years in gymnastics. Feminine, but on her own terms.

She raised a hand to knock, but the door swung open before her fist could make contact.

The man was taller than she’d expected, but everyone was tall when you were short as hell. His shirt was already off, and Arya bit her tongue from making a snarky comment. He was definitely older than she’d expected, older than anyone she’d slept with so far, but that intrigued her even more.

That, and the sharp, firm look in his eyes. Yes, she definitely enjoyed that.

“You Ty?” Arya asked, raising an eyebrow.

He didn’t respond, just moved out of the way to let her into the room.

“I guess I’ll take that as a yes.” Arya said dryly, rolling her eyes.

Before she could turn around, his hand was on her throat, pulling her towards him, forcing her to look up and meet his stony eyes. _That_ shocked her, the tingling buzz going from her heart to settle between her thighs.

“You,” He said, his voice low and commanding, “need to talk less.”

Arya grinned.

\--------------

Arya was still lazily sprawled on the bed when he went to the bathroom.

Her limbs were heavy, the post-orgasm buzz making her lethargic and warm. Gods, it was good. Better than she’d expected. And, after surveying the results, she’d probably have bruises for a good week.

_Good._

She rubbed at her wrists, raw from the handcuffs from earlier. They weren’t the fuzzy shit, either, and Arya had keened at the feeling of then digging into her wrists as he fucked her from behind.

The sound of the shower began in the other room, and Arya rolled her eyes. Of course, he wasn’t even going to invite her to shower. 

But that was part of the charm, wasn’t it? 

She rolled out her tired muscles, yawning despite herself. She stood off the bed, slipping the thin dress back over her body. She pressed her fingers into a particularly nasty bruise, maring her hip- it was already starting to change shades.

Arya went to slip her combat boots back on, and noticed his wallet on the table beside them.

She bit her lip, wondering how many lines she was willing to cross in one night. Normally she didn’t want to know their names, didn’t give a shit. But this man fucked _good_ , and he looked well-kept and put together. She couldn’t pretend like she wasn’t curious. 

The shower was still going strong in the other room, so she gave in.

She flipped open the wallet, looking at the first card she saw. Thick and heavy, a shiny black credit card.

_Tywin Lannister._

Arya raised an eyebrow at that- she’d heard of the Lannisters before. The Baratheons always came over for uptight, shitty dinners so that her mom could sell Sansa off like some prized cow. The boy’s mom was a particular bitch, for all Arya could tell, and often talked about how wonderful her Lannister heritage was.

Maybe they were related. Arya really hoped so, because she was pretty sure Cersei would cry if Arya had fucked her cousin or something.

She flipped through a few more cards, wondering if she could get away with taking one. Probably not- he seemed important, could probably track her down. 

She went to check for his cash, and noticed a folded paper stuck down in the folds.

Arya fished it out, opening up the little polaroid picture.

She saw Ty standing by a tall, slender blonde woman. To her right was her mirror image, but male; and to his right was an incredibly short man, looking out of place next to the golden-haired family.

But the woman looked familiar. Arya noticed a little boy in front of her, her hands holding his shoulders as his pudgy face glowered at the camera.

_Oh, fuck._

Arya squinted at the picture, hoping she was wrong.

But she knew that woman and she definitely knew that shitstain of a child in front of her.

She’d fucked Sansa’s boyfriend’s goddamn _grandpa._

\-------------

When Gendry picked her up later, she was still buzzed.

“How’d it go this time, then? Still got all limbs?” He asked her, a smirk on his lips. But she didn’t miss the hard look in his eyes, because he _always_ got this way talking about her having sex, always got too protective and involved.

She’d thought about having sex with him before, but she couldn’t. She didn’t know why, didn’t _want_ to know why, because he was Gendry Waters and he was hot and he was fucking hilarious but for some reason she couldn’t fuck him. She couldn’t.

“I fucked up.” Arya groaned, leaning back into his passenger seat.

“That bad, huh?” He asked, staring at the road ahead.

“I called _you,_ so yeah.” Arya shot back, running her hands through her choppy, brown hair. She’d taken her scissors to it a few weeks back and still didn’t regret it.

“You use me for rides all the time.” Gendry snorted, rolling his eyes at her.

“I _know_ this guy.” Arya said, gritting her teeth. Gendry’s eyebrows shot up, so she added, “Well- fuck, okay, I don’t _know_ him directly. But you know Joffrey, right?”

“Sadly, yes.” Gendry responded. “You didn’t fuck him, did you?”

“Dear god, no. I would’ve already killed myself if I did that.” Arya hissed. “I fucked his grandpa.”

Gendry slammed on his breaks, stopping in the middle of the road.

“What the fuck.” Gendry hissed, pressing his fingers into his eyes.

“You can freak out about it later, now just get us to Jon’s, okay?” She responded. She knew he’d respond like this, wasn’t sure why he’d called him in the first place. But when she’d seen that picture, she’d felt more anxious and freaked out than she had in a while, and he was where she always went first.

She wasn’t sure _why_ Gendry was always her first to go to. If he ever asked about it, she’d probably stop, and maybe that was why he hadn’t questioned it in the first place.

“I need a drink.” Arya complained, putting her combat boots onto the dashboard. Gendry shot her a dirty look.

“ _I_ need a drink, just so I can forget you fucked a Lannister.” 

\-------------

Jon’s place was surprisingly packed when they got there, making Arya glare at the parked cars around them.

“I don’t know half these people.” Arya grumbled, running a finger through the dust of a car beside her. She wasn’t sure the last time Jon’s house had been so packed, if ever. His mom was never home, so it was always their first place to go.

“I think he invited a few people from the repair shop.” Gendry added, looking down at her as he shoved his hands deep into his pockets. She couldn’t decode the weird-ass look he was giving her, and decided that was probably for the best. 

She could hear music coming from the house, loud and thumping. She grinned- Jon’s neighbors were going to give him hell in the morning, but they were old and uptight and grumpy as fuck.

Sandor Clegane was on the porch, his leather jacket straining around his arms as he took a long drag from a cigarette. He eyed them warily as they approached, the familiar scowl on his face.

“Being a guard dog tonight?” Arya shot at him, a low blow that she couldn’t resist.

“Fuck off.” He growled, flicking his cigarette in her direction. Arya gave him her widest, eat-shit grin, because her few enjoyable hobbies were fucking strangers and pissing off Sandor Clegane.

The inside of Jon’s house was even crazier- there were more people than she’d ever seen in there, all crammed into the dimly-lit area. She felt like she was stepping into a sea of leather jackets.

“I’m getting a drink,” Arya said loudly into Gendry’s ear, talking over the loud music. He just nodded, already making eye-contact with one of his buddies from the shop.

But Arya had already found the table of alcohol, and she was focused.

Opening up a bottle of beer, she surveyed the room. She knew most of them, some kids from school and a few from the community college nearby. She’d seen some of them from the shop Jon and Gendry worked at, but she couldn’t recall many names.

Taking a swig of the cold beer, she saw Jon’s dark curls on the other side of the room, his head dipped down as he talked to someone. He was close to the girl, close enough that she couldn’t make out her face. Arya squinted against the smoke in the room, moving to see around the bodies.

She went to yell for Jon, but decided against it. He certainly looked busy with this girl- they weren’t full on making out, but by their body language, they didn’t seem far from it. Someone moved out of her line of sight, and Arya noticed she was wearing a red and gold skirt, paired with a crop top that showed a large swath of pearly white skin.

Arya snorted at that. Leave it to Jon, poster child for the hot, troubled bad boy, to pick up some preppy chick and bring her to party _here._ But hey, if she hadn’t high tailed it the moment she saw the rough crowd around her, she must’ve known what she was signing up for.

But then, Jon shifted, and Arya saw the familiar curtain of red hair, and the sharp, pale lines of her sister’s face.

Arya spit out her beer. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song for this chapter is from bodyache by Purity Ring!
> 
> I hope y’all are ready for some angsts teenage drama, because I am channeling it 100% in this fic.
> 
> I also need to warn: the Starks are fucked up in this fic. As in, almost all of them hate each other, Ned/Cat are awful parents, and they all have too many issues to count. If you’re looking for a close Arya/Sansa relationship right out of the bat, it’s not gonna be here. This chapter is mostly Sansa having an prolonged breakdown, so be warned.
> 
> And for my SanSan and Jonsa lovers: this fic will have some of both. Haven’t decided the endgame yet (open to suggestions!) for them, but it’s high school. Enough said.
> 
> As always, read and enjoy!

When Sansa stepped out of the truck, she wondered if she’d really made the wrong decision this time.

She’d fooled herself into thinking that Jon Snow and her had something in common, even if it was just a nicotine addiction and a forced sense of apathy. It had just felt good to sit in his truck and not act perfect and prim and proper and she’d gotten a little drunk off that, perhaps.

But then they got to his house and the mirage broke.

Yeah, she definitely didn’t belong here.

It was a tiny, modest house in the rougher ends of suburbia, completely different from her own house. She wasn’t expecting a mansion, of course, but looking around at the dead grass, faded shutters, and tire tracks in the dirt, she felt uneasy.

“My mom is never home.” Jon said, brushing past her as if he didn’t give two shits what she thought about his house- he didn’t apologize, not even half-heartedly like he had earlier with his truck. She envied that, wished she could be as comfortable as he was.

“My parents usually aren’t, either.” Sansa mumbled, her face turning red when he eyed her. It sounded stupid, a  _ who cares?  _ Immediately coming to mind. She wasn’t sure what made her suddenly so desperate to connect to him, to assure him they were alike.

And then it hit her, all bitter and sour, manifesting itself as a lump in her throat. This may be the first time in her life that  _ she  _ was the outsider, the odd one out. Sansa Stark was the freak in this world.

“I work at an auto shop down the road,” Jon said, gesturing to the small garage as they passed it. Sansa squinted her eyes, making out a few motorcycles propped up near the entrance.

“Are those all yours?” Sansa asked. 

Jon laughed. “Those are the guys from the shop, actually.”

Sansa felt anxious at that. 

_ They’re just freaks,  _ she reminded herself, remembering what Joffrey would always say. Just because she didn’t fit in with them didn’t mean they were better than her.

But there was still that anxiety churning in her stomach, saying  _ oh god what if you don’t fit in- _

__ It was easy, fitting in with Joffrey and Jeyne and all of the beautiful, poised people at school, their entire lives planned out for them in detailed, polished steps. 

But here, at Jon Snow’s weathered, small house, motorcycles out front and the smell of cigarettes thick in the air, there were no steps. There was no guide to fitting in, no formulas she could follow. 

Sansa steeled herself, raising her chin and sucking in what little of her stomach that she could, just like her mother had taught her. And then she followed him through the front door.

Someone was greeting Jon with an enthusiastic shout of his last name; they all started talking, the grumble of deep voices, and Sansa smoothed her hands down the front of her cheerleading skirt.

There were three guys sitting on one of the worn leather couches, all nursing some sort of drink in front of them. The first one that noticed Sansa was a large man with a wild red beard.

“And who did you bring here, Snow?” The man chuckled, clapping a hand on Jon’s back as he eyed her. Sansa felt his gaze rove over her uniform.

“This is Sansa.” Jon said, and Sansa waited for him to continue, to give further explanation on why someone like  _ her  _ was in a place like this. Mainly because she wanted to know that, too.

But he didn’t. She wondered how often he was bringing girls here.

“Well, Sansa.” The man said, giving a broad, lopsided grin. “You certainly aren’t Jon’s usual type.”

“Tormund,” Jon said, his voice sharp and annoyed. 

“He’s not my usual, either.” Sansa replied, giving a small grin back at the man and hoping to all gods that she hadn’t misstepped.

But Tormund just laughed wildly, and Jon even cracked a shadow of a smile at that.

She didn’t say anything about having a boyfriend of three years. Didn’t utter a peep about it. She supposed she should feel bad, feel  _ something _ , but she didn’t- in a way, being on the wrong side of town with the wrong type of people made her feel stronger.

“At least you can admit it.” Tormund said. “And you’re a redhead. I like you already.”

She smiled at that, preening at the tiny bit of praise and acceptance she could get, even if it came with Tormund still glancing at her bare legs.

Across the room, the other two men were watching them, no longer talking to Jon. One of them had a mess of brown hair, smoothed back from his face, and was watching her with an amused, light grin. The other, however, was what had caught her eye.

He was big. Bigger than the other two, and Tormund had completely dwarfed her. The first thing she noticed was his scowl, eyeing her with a hard look that didn’t hide his disgust in the least. The second thing, of course, was the mess of scars on one side of his face. 

It looked painful and rough, and it made her breath stop in her throat. The man seemed to see her response, and instead stood up, his muscled, tall form tensing, and turned sharply to leave the room. 

Sansa was too focused to notice Jon slipping a cold glass into her hands.

“Figured you might want to get started before everyone else got here.” He explained, taking a sip from his own drink. She looked back around the room for the scarred man, but he was nowhere to be found. Sansa shook the unsettled feeling from her, bringing the drink to her mouth. She wrinkled her nose when the smell hit her.

“Seriously?” Jon raised his eyebrows.

“Sorry,” Sansa said quickly, taking a quick drink of it before she could be judged any more. She hated beer, hated the bitter smell and the flat taste.  _ Especially  _ cheap beer.

“So that was Tormund,” Jon said as he brought her into the kitchen, grabbing her another glass from a shelf before she could stop him. “He and the others graduated a few years ago. Other one, with the blond hair, that was Bronn. And the other guy-”

“With the scars?” Sansa said, the words falling from her mouth before she could stop them. They were tucked into the kitchen, away from his friends, but she’d felt the words carry.

Jon winced. “Yeah, that one. That’s Sandor, but don’t mention the scars, alright?”

Sansa nodded, welcoming the glass of brown liquid that he traded for her beer. Standing in his kitchen, her arms and legs aching from the game, a headache brewing by the minute, and her stomach still completely empty, she wanted to down the glass.

So she did.

Jon was eyeing her with an amused look in his eyes, his teeth a flash of white as he smirked.

He raised his hands defensively when she glared at him. “No judgement here. I promised drunk-off-your-ass, remember?”

Sansa supposed she should’ve been worried about how she was going to get home, who would be watching her, if she was even  _ safe  _ on the far side of town with a party full of- presumably- boys. But honestly, breaking the rules and steps her parents had so carefully laid out for her life felt fucking  _ fantastic _ .

\---------------------

Thirty minutes later, the house was overrun with people.

If Sansa had felt out of place earlier, now she felt like she was on a different planet; in a sea of people clad in ripped clothes and leather, she felt like a neon light that said  _ I don’t belong here. _

__ She idly wished she’d changed out of her cheer uniform into something different, but even her usual clothes would seem ridiculous here. The discomfort stretched far past her clothes, digging deep into her skin.

Jon introduced her to a few more people, a ton of faces that flitted by before she could really commit them to memory. It was dark and hazy in his house, and someone had started playing music, and to top it all off, she was three glasses in on Jon’s whiskey-and-soda mix. 

“Why’d you bring me here?” Sansa asked, leaning back onto the wall behind her to make the room stop spinning. She had to almost yell it, even though Jon was less than a foot away from her. 

Jon gave her that same amused, halfway smile. 

“Can’t you enjoy something without looking for meaning in all of it?” He shouted back, leaning closer to talk to her.

Tispy- no, probably a little drunk now- as she was, she still felt frustrated. She wasn’t used to things  _ not making sense  _ but here in this house, with Jon Snow, absolutely  _ nothing  _ made sense. It didn’t fit into her perfect life, her perfect plans, her perfect steps-  _ isn’t that what you wanted? _

__ “The real question, though, Sansa-” Jon said, and in a few seconds he’d gotten right up against her, nearly flush with her. She felt electric, like someone had turned on her power supply and she’d been set alight, oversensitive to how close he was. He was barely taller than her, his eyes dark as he leaned into her, his lips barely grazing her ear.

“-is why did you  _ let _ yourself come here?”

She shivered, his breath hot on her ear. She opened her mouth to say something- she hadn’t figured out her words yet, hadn’t decided on what she wanted yet. But before they could come out, someone else interrupted them.

“What the fuck are you doing here.”

It wasn’t a question from Arya’s lips, really, it was more of a statement. A way to say  _ you shouldn’t be here.  _

“Arya?” Sansa asked as Jon moved, letting her see her sister clearly. She had that signature scowl on her face, the one she always wore in the few moments a week Sansa would see her. Her hair was still chopped clean at her shoulders, messy and untamed, and she wore a slinky black dress that had Sansa raising her eyebrows.

“What are you doing here?” Arya repeated, getting closer to her sister. Sansa could practically feel the anger rolling off of her; it wasn’t anything new to her, if she were being honest.

The Stark sisters coexisted, at best, ignoring one another and pretending that the other simply wasn’t alive.

At worst, they were at each other’s throats, primed and ready to kill.

“I brought her here, Arya.” Jon responded, angling his body between them.

“I knew you had shit taste, Jon, but really?” Arya sneered. Sansa let that one roll off her- if there was one person who could judge her, it  _ wasn’t  _ Arya.

“You didn’t tell me you knew my sister.” Sansa spoke up then, giving Jon a hard look. She shouldn’t have been surprised, really- Arya always seemed to be attracted to weird, broken things. Or what little she  _ knew  _ of Arya seemed to be that way.

She hadn’t seen her in a solid week, if she were being honest. With their parents gone most of the time, Sansa didn’t even know if Arya still _ lived  _ at the house. 

Arya opened her mouth to speak again, but a hand appeared at her shoulder.

There was another boy behind her now, tall and lanky, with close-cut brown hair.

“Arya?” He asked, less concern and more frowning now. It was almost laughable to Sansa- was this her sister’s  _ boyfriend?  _ She certainly didn’t know- hell, they could be married, and Sansa still wouldn’t know. Arya was a Stark by last name only.

Arya blew him off, though, ready for a fight. 

“Fuck off, Gendry.” Arya growled, shoving his hand off. For a petite five foot, her sister had the stubbornness of a bull and the fight of a lion, all packaged into a brat of a teenager.

“Leave it alone, or get out of my house.” Jon said finally, his words louder than Sansa had been expecting. For all of the laid back, quiet smoulder, his words had came out with an edge she didn’t know he possessed.

A few nearby people turned, looking towards Jon, but he didn’t pay them any attention. He was too busy staring Arya down, the latter practically snarling.

A moment later, she turned her attention back to Sansa, the hate apparent in her eyes.

“When you’re done playing pretend,” Arya said, her voice almost too low to make out over the thump of music around them. “Don’t come back.”

At that, she disappeared back into the crowd of people, her friend scrambling after her. Sansa saw one last look, a scowl, shot back over her shoulder.

“Sorry. I should’ve told you I knew her.” Jon said, his face still hard. “I knew she had some family issues and all but-”

Sansa laughed at that. 

“I didn’t realize it was that bad.” Jon said, running a hand through his inky curls.

“I don’t even know her.” Sansa said, feeling that familiar buzz in her chest, half from the alcohol and half from her bitch of a sister. “I didn’t even know she had friends, honestly.”

“Yeah. She gets very….” Jon drew off. “Protective. Of her friends, I mean.”

“And I’m here to ruin it all, of course.” Sansa said, the sarcasm dripping from her voice as she took another drink, burning liquid down her throat.

Jon watched her, his eyes travelling down her neck and down her body, taking a good long look that was anything but subtle. But she knew that was probably intentional, too.

“Yes, yes you are.” He said, meeting her eyes.

\------------

To her luck, Sansa didn’t see Arya for the rest of the night.

She had another drink, just in case she did.

Tormund had shoved a shot into her hand, some cheap tequila that tasted like rubbing alcohol.

“C’mon, cheerleader,” Tormund laughed, clapping a hand on her back when she choked on it. “Thought this was a white girl staple?”

To all his teasing, Tormund seemed to be the only one that really somewhat accepted her, even if it were just for the novelty of it all-  _ Jon Snow always rescuing the strays. _

__ She was practically falling over herself, at that point, leaning on Jon to stand in the room, swaying in and out of whatever conversation he was having with Tormund. Something about bikes and belts and more shit she didn’t understand.

But with the alcohol in her, the loud music still going strong, the half drunk crowd around her-  _ we’re not so different, are we?  _

He was saying her name now, light on his tongue. He said it like it was a treat, some sugary sweet idea.

“You good?” Jon said lightly, and his hand touched her cheek. She was warm, burning even.

“Perfect.” Sansa responded, giving him the brightest smile she could manage.

“I’m gonna take her home.” She heard him telling Tormund, and it made her frown. The last place she wanted to be was home, back with her mother and Robb and Bran and Rickon and gods-

Or, back to an empty house.

At the moment, she wasn’t sure what was worse. Coming home to her mother’s disappointed face, Robb’s pity, her brothers’ horror, or back to an empty house where she could drunkenly cry on the kitchen floor. Again.

“I don’t want to go home,” She whispered to Jon as he was leading her, far, far away from the party and outside where the air was cold and cruel.

“Okay,” Jon said simply. 

When he opened the door, her sneaker caught on the threshold, and she was suddenly tripping into a strong, hard surface.

“ _ Fuck,”  _ A voice said, one she hadn’t heard yet- dark, angry, rich. 

It rumbled underneath her hands, firmly planted onto Sandor’s chest. She could only look up at him, wide-eyed, his hands grasped tight around her upper arms. Partially to catch her, partially to keep her away, it seemed.

He was scowling at her even more now, stronger and more bitter than before.  _ Disgust. _

__ No one had ever been disgusted with her before. It made her want to crawl out of her skin, burrow deep into the ground and dissolve into nothing.

“Sorry, she’s had a lot to drink.” Jon said from behind her, and his hand was warm, burning against her back when it covered the part that her cropped uniform didn’t. It was bizarre, contrasted to the scarred, angry face in front of her.

“I’m sorry,” Sansa said, but it came out more as a pitiful whisper.

“C’mon, princess.” Jon said softly, pulling her away, past Sandor and down the porch stairs. She couldn’t help but look back over her shoulder, and see the dark eyes that were still watching her, the expression unreadable, the scowl still twisting his features.

She drifted in and out, realizing she was in his truck now; Jon was driving, his hands drumming against the wheel as he hummed softly to himself. She didn’t realize she was staring until he spoke up.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Jon asked.

“I don’t want to go home.” Sansa said, softly. Her chest was beating rapidly, though, her hands shaking. She felt tears at the corner of her eyes, and she tried to breath in and out, just like her therapist had said last summer.

“Okay. Not going home.” Jon said, eyeing her with a confused expression. “So where to?”

“I don’t  _ know.”  _ Sansa said, the last word coming off as a choked, strangled sob. 

She knew she was still drunk, the world still spinning around her but  _ fuck,  _ she felt trapped. In the truck, in the town, in her damn skin. No place sounded like home anymore.

“Hey, hey.” Jon said, trying to be comforting. She could see the look behind his eyes, though, the shaken  _ what the fuck is wrong with you? _

__ “You like ice cream?” He said after a moment, once she’d stopped crying, her breathing somewhat under control.

She laughed at that, mingling with the wet tears on her face. 

“Of course I like ice cream.” She said, though he couldn’t understand what was so damn funny. She’d already done so many things  _ not Sansa  _ tonight, so many things her mother would shudder at. Why not do more?

Jon was ordering something, the bright lights of the drive through making Sansa feel exposed then and there. She was still in her sweaty cheerleading uniform, her hair a mess, her eyeliner probably smeared from her tears. 

And then she was eating a bite of ice cream, cheap drive-through ice cream made at one in the morning, parked outside the fast food place. But it tasted like heaven in that instant, sweeter than she’d ever imagined.

And then her stomach caught up to her.

She jumped out of the car, Jon running after her a second later, her name on his lips once again.

And then, Sansa Stark threw up outside of a McDonald's drive through.

\-----------

Jon Snow was laughing like it was the funniest thing in the world.

He was driving now, looping around their town, his windows down despite the cool breeze. She welcomed it on her face, let it hit her clammy hands outside the window.

“I’m never letting you drink again.” He laughed, shaking his head.

She turned red, but she wasn’t sure what to tell him. She hadn’t drank  _ that  _ much. She hadn’t eaten that day, either. She hadn’t eaten ice cream in almost a full year.

They all seemed even more shameful, so she let him laugh at her tolerance instead.

He’d also made that little slip.  _ Again.  _

“You ready to go home now, princess?” Jon asked, that slight smile on his face as he eyed her, her head lolling out the window as the breeze hit. 

She thought about it, weighing it around in her head. 

“Yeah.” She said softly.  _ No, not really. I never want to. _

__ But he drove her home then, playing some easy rock song on the radio, mumbling the words under his breath. She focused on that, the early morning breeze, and the slight buzz still in her system.

It was almost peaceful, in a way, if she could forget where she was going.

She gave him a few directions through their neighborhood, giving him the code to the gated community. It felt weirdly intimate, like he was about to step into a part of her life she wasn’t comfortable with. 

He parked in their driveway, watching her while she regained herself. Sansa wondered how long he’d been watching her- surely before this day, with how he studied her. 

She slipped out of the truck onto the pristine cobblestone path, pristine and free of any stains. So very different from the ripped up yard, the gravel driveway of Jon’s house.

“Thank you,” Sansa said after a moment, and she knew she sounded silly, ridiculously over dramatic and sincere, but she meant it. 

“Wait,” He said, leaning over to grab a napkin out of his console. He scribbled onto it, a messy scrawl. “Here you go.”

Her vision was still wobbly, her head spinning, but she could make out a few messy numbers.

And then she was back in her world, back in her land of steps and goals and rigid guidelines, and Jon Snow was firmly outside of it.

\-----------------

The next morning, Sansa fished her phone from deep in her gym bag.

She hadn’t touched it all night, which was unusual for her. To be honest, she hadn’t even thought about it once she’d left the game, once Joffrey had thrown her to the side.

She blinked at the messages, the missed phone calls and voicemails.

As Sansa listened to them, curled up firmly under the covers, she felt her heart beat faster. That familiar sense of dread boiling inside her, that fear that  _ things aren’t going to plan. _

__ “Where the  _ fuck  _ were you last night?” Joffrey’s voice said, on the third voicemail, left early that morning. “Jeyne said she saw you come home with fucking Jon Snow? Surely she had to be drunk as fuck because you’d never be such a whore.”

Then, a voicemail sent ten minutes after that one.

“-if you fucked him, I swear to god I’ll kill you. You dumb bitch, one fucking  _ freak  _ looks at you and-”

“-never worth my time anyways, you cunt-”

“We’re over. Bet you found a lot of guys to fuck you last night, anyways.”

Sansa just stared at her phone, blinking at the voicemail as it played.

It was weird, the feelings she felt; disgust, hatred, and failure, all bubbling within her, because she was supposed to be with Joffrey Baratheon, was supposed to marry him and give him kids and be a dutiful,  _ beautiful  _ wife while he took over his father’s position. It was meant to be, had been set into stone from the day she was born.

But she also felt something low in her stomach, a curling bit of satisfaction that she’d made him feel that way.  _ She’d  _ made him mad, made him angry, made him feel a fool, and hadn’t that been her up until now?

Sansa shoved her fingers into her eyes, wondering if she even had the heart to cry about their breakup. It would only be a matter of time until her mother found out, and there would be hell to pay.

There was another  _ ding  _ of her phone, a text this time.

It was now into the early afternoon, and the last text from Joffrey had been from early that morning. Sansa thought that he’d be out of steam by now, probably moving on to the next cheerleader he found. She knew there was a long line, after her.

But instead it was from Gilly, a sweet, quiet girl from her AP Calculus class. Sansa couldn’t remember the last time they’d talked- maybe a mandatory group project sophomore year? Regardless, she was amazed she had her number still.

_ Hey, Sansa. I know we haven’t talked in a while, but I wanted to make sure you knew about this. Sam got the text, forwarded from some number he didn’t know. I just know I’d want to know if it was me. I’ll delete it right after you see this text, I promise.  _ __

__ Gilly had attached a screenshot of a text from an unsaved number, sent alongside a picture. Sansa knew the picture, knew it very, very well, but she zoomed in on it anyways.

It was her, standing in front of her vanity in her room, bathed in the golden light of her lamp. No shirt, no bra, just her long red hair trailing over her bare breasts as she smirked into the camera. 

_ Once a whore, always a whore. _

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew. That’s some angst. I also gotta say it was very hard writing Sansa being okay drunk at a party full of strangers, but she’s not exactly in the right state of mind here. If you are partying/drinking, do it responsibly. In real life, my friends and I don’t even let each other go to the bathroom alone if we’ve been drinking at a frat party. Always be safe.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song for this chapter is The Plan from The Front Bottoms. If you can’t tell, my Arya song inspiration is more punk/grunge-ish while Sansa is more pop/indie-ish. 
> 
> Another Arya chapter! Sorry for taking so long to update- I’m struggling to write my Arya chapters. I feel like she’s such a unique character, and I relate to Sansa much more than I do Arya so it’s harder to write Arya.
> 
> Also, my Gendry is much more of a sweet little cinnamon roll. Arya’s being a little brat here, but give her time! I’ve also just realized my entire story so far had been in like 12 hours storytime. I promise it’ll pick up, but I’m focusing a lot on this bit to place the characters/relationships and set the stage.
> 
> I hope to have the next chapter, a Sansa chapter, up later tonight!
> 
> As always, read and enjoy!

Jon Snow liked pretty little broken things.

Arya knew that. Gendry knew that. Tormund knew that. _Hell,_ every one of their friends knew that. It wasn’t some big secret, wasn’t a one time thing.

Arya was just pissed that this time, that pretty little broken thing was her sister, who was definitely more of a handful than anything Jon could’ve possibly expected.

He didn’t know her, didn’t know her meticulous planning and almost apathetic view on getting what she wanted, no matter the costs. She was practically just a robot, repeating all the pretty little things their mother said and opening her legs to anyone with a slight hint of power.

Which is exactly why it all didn’t make _any_ fucking sense.

“I don’t get what she’s doing.” Arya seethed, pressing her face into the cold window of Gendry’s car, hoping it would calm down the heat pulsing through her. She was pissed, and she couldn’t stay at Jon’s house. Not after he’d pulled that shit.

“Sansa’s always been….” Gendry trailed off, shaking his head.

“You don’t know shit about my sister.” Arya snapped, the first thing flying out of her mouth.

For a moment, she saw Gendry’s face tighten, his brow furrowed, almost _hurt._ But that couldn’t be it, surely, because they didn’t do that shit. They didn’t do girly emotions and little sob stories.

“I see more than you think.” Gendry said, and though his face had become impassive, the hard line of his jaw smoothed out, his words were still steely.

Arya huffed into the window, the empty roads around them turning foggy.

\---------

She slipped on one of Gendry’s old ratty t-shirts.

She practically lived in those things, nowadays, coming back to his dingy apartment when she couldn’t stand the thought of stepping onto the Stark McMansion, onto perfect grass and power washed cobblestone.

Arya could still smell him on the shirt, woodsy and dark, and she swallowed down the fondness she’d grown for that scent. She liked a lot of smells, like gasoline and tabasco sauce and worn-out leather, but that didn’t mean shit.

“You need a better couch,” She told Gendry, like she always did. He was still acting weird from the drive, his face still stony and unreadable as he brushed his teeth.

“Go back to your parents, then.” He told her, and for a moment she felt a stab of irritation through her, thick with hurt and anger. He never acted like that, because they never talked about this shit. Not about her coming with him after she’d hooked up with some new guy, bruises on her thighs and mascara running, feeling like she’d burst into flames if she went back home.

Because that’s what they were, and maybe it was a lot of what they weren’t, too. They didn’t talk about that shit, and that was fine. They were friends. They weren’t best friends.

The only person Arya Stark was accountable to was herself.

“Fine.” She said, and she stopped her voice from shaking. Because he’d falter, like he always did, and he’d give in, like he always did. Gendry was one of the most stable, realest things in her life, but he was, above all other things, weak.

But this time, Gendry didn’t say anything.

She shoved her dress back into her backpack, zipping it with as much force as she could muster. The little piece of metal jammed up, but she just gritted her teeth harder.

_Fuck him._ She was keeping his shirt, too.

“At least let me drive you home, Arya.” He sighed when she opened the door.

She flipped him off before she closed it.

\------------

Arya lived exactly four point three miles away from Gendry’s apartment, a fact she’d known for a while. She’d never walked it, though, and especially not at one o’clock in the morning, but she didn’t see any other option.

She had her boots hanging from her fingertips, her bare feet on the sidewalk, occasionally illuminated by the streetlamps. It was cold, colder than she expect, but it felt good. She cold still feel the ache between her legs, a reminder of the earlier hookup.

She couldn’t tell Sansa. She knew that it would feel fucking amazing to go to her sister, to watch her look of horror and her face of tears. Watch that meticulous mascara stream down her pale skin. It was nice, sometimes, to be reminded that she was a human, could be just as ugly and broken as the rest of them.

But even Arya knew that would be too far. 

She felt it, then, just a mile away from her parent’s house, getting close to the gate. A little inkling of guilt, nasty and concerning. She definitely wasn’t used to that.

Arya just gritted her teeth, punching the numbers into the gate with vigor. There was nothing to be guilty about, she told herself. It was consensual, he didn’t recognize her, she didn’t think he was married, anymore. Fuck what anyone else thought.

When she snuck in through the back door, the house was quiet, the lights out. Her mom had been awake when she left, but she was surely out by now, probably popped an ambien with a few glasses of wine. Arya hadn’t seen her father in weeks, wasn’t even sure if he was still in the country at the moment. 

They’d been close, when she was younger. But business came before family, like always, and at some point they ceased being a family. Now, the Starks were more like a carefully controlled front, a faked picture of perfection and happiness for all other rich, bitchy families to glower over.

_If you left out me._

Arya grabbed a water bottle from the fridge, slamming the door behind her. 

When she finally slipped into bed, her fingers itched to open her phone. She wanted to see if Gendry had texted, see if he had apologized. Even worse, part of _her_ wanted to text him and try to smooth things over. She wasn’t sure when she’d became so damn dependent on Gendry, but it was all too apparent now.

Arya had met him on accident, sort of.

She was in eighth grade, with her hair shorn by sloppy scissors, her jeans with artificial holes that she’d ripped herself. She’d been testing boundaries then, reveling in the disappointment she’d get from her parents. 

And part of that was learning to ride a motorcycle. 

She’d seen her mother once, scowling at Theon Greyjoy as he came to hang out with Robb. He’d shown up on their property with a flashy bike, a new leather jacket, and a wild smirk on his face. Theon was a different breed- still rich, snobby boy from a well-known family, but not afraid to seem improper.

And Arya had known then that it would be the next big move for her. 

She found the motorcycle shop online, had shown up the next day after school. 

Tormund had laughed in her face, in that gruff, cheery way he always did. She’d told him to fuck off, right then and there, in that shop.

But then she’d met Jon.

She’d known him from a distance- when she was smoking her first cigarettes behind the bleachers, he was in her peripherals, acquaintances but not quite. When she was drinking beers out by the old lake, he was on the shores in front of her. They’d probably talked, once or twice, but she’d never _known_ him.

But he was the first one to give her a shot. He’d taken her out for a drive, snug on the back of his own motorcycle. She’d felt exhilarated then, felt a sense of happiness that had nothing to do with the disappointment she’d expected from her mom. With the wind whipping her flannel around, the sunlight shining off the bike, Jon’s grin as she hollered, she felt content for once.

She felt like she could hop on that thing, could ride far, far away. Could forget about the Starks and the rules and the standards, could be whoever the fuck she wanted to be without anyone mentioning her last name. It felt like _freedom._

And the next time she’d came, bills stuffed in her backpack, stolen from her parent’s safe, Jon wasn’t there. When she asked about him, someone else answered- a part-timer, like Jon. But where Jon had a strong, silent look, with a head full of messy black curls and sinewy muscles, this guy was tall and _soft_ , in a weird way. He was still muscled, still had close-cut brown hair and a few tattoos snaking around his upper arms, but his face was rounder, his lips quirked into a small smile.

Arya didn’t like him, at first.

He didn’t even _ride_ motorcycles. 

“I’ve never really liked them.” Gendry had shrugged, showing her the few they had on hand. He’d had a smudge of oil on him, dark on his already tanned skin.

“You afraid or something?” Arya scoffed, raising an eyebrow. 

She was being rude, poking and prodding, but to her surprise, Gendry had just grinned.

“I’ve rode a few times, of course.” He’d said, tapping on the handle of one of the smaller bikes. A good fit for her size. “Just never stuck. Not really worth the risk.”

“You talk like my dad.” Arya grumbled, fitting her hands around the bars, testing how they’d feel.

“He sounds like a smart man.” Gendry shot back, tossing her a helmet from the wall. “You trying to get back at your parents, like this?”

Arya rolled her eyes. She’d have found a motorcycle, regardless of her parents. They could be the happiest, most involved parents on the planet, and she still would’ve felt that pull.

But yeah, she was still itching to see the look on her mother’s face. So she didn’t bother hiding it.

“You can’t tell me you haven’t tried purposefully disappointing yours.” Arya scoffed, balancing her weight on the bike. Gendry had grinned from ear to ear, then, like he’d caught her in a little trap. He crossed his arms over his chest, the material of his shirt pulling smug over him.

“Actually, I can. Don’t have parents.” 

Arya had felt her face redden at that, immediately feeling like a piece of shit towards a friendly dude trying to help her; but Gendry had just laughed. It was then, probably, that she knew they’d be friends. 

Besides. She had to have somewhere to hide the bike once her mother demanded she get rid of it, of course.

Three years later, with her a junior and Gendry a senior, they were close. Closer than she’d like to admit. He was the first one she ran to when shit got bad, was the _only_ one who even knew about her hookups. She didn’t have the courage to tell him about the certain things she got into, but he’d seen the bruises on her, the state she was in after the meets. He knew more about her than she did, probably.

So it was bittersweet, feeling smug at putting him down, letting him know he was wrong about Jon and Sansa and that shit, but also knowing that she was probably a little wrong, too.

\-------------

She woke up the next morning to her phone ringing.

She blinked her eyes at the clock, the numbers glaring back at her.

_Who the fuck would call her at ten on a Saturday morning?_

But she saw it was Gendry, and that kept her irritation at bay. Maybe he was calling to apologize, calling to agree about last night. And if he had to do that at ten-fucking-am, then so be it.

“What?” Arya snapped as she answered the call.

“Uh, hey.” Gendry said, his voice uncharacteristically somber, awkward and tentative. “You checked your phone this morning?”

“I’ve been asleep.” Arya said, her voice dripping with disdain.

“Well, I think something happened.” His voice trailed off. “I got a picture this morning.”

“Wonderful. I’m so very fucking _pleased_ that you called to tell me about a goddamn picture.” 

“Arya.” Gendry said, his voice quick and cutting. “I’m being serious, here. I don’t know if something is going on with Sansa, but you should check on her.”

For a moment, it made Arya pause. Not only his tone, but a creeping feeling in her stomach that led to anxiety. She was still pissed at Sansa, still angry and hurt at Jon, but if something had happened to them….

“Someone sent a picture of her to me. Or at least, I think it’s her. It looks like her hair but I haven’t seen what she looks like in _this_ way of course so-”

“Gendry. Just tell me what it is.” 

“Someone’s been sending one of Sansa’s nudes around. I don’t know why, or who, but the message talks about her being a whore, and mentions Jon. So I’m pretty sure we can take a guess.”

\--------------

It’s now after one in the afternoon, and Arya is still laying in bed, blinking up at the ceiling, unsure of what to do. 

She’s never been a comforter. Hell, _no_ Stark is a comforter, really- the closest they’ve got is her mom, and she’s only a comforter in word only. If it makes her look good, Catelyn Stark will comfort the shit out of anyone, all fake empathy and cold hugs.

Arya thought she hated Sansa, really. She at least hated everything she stood for, that was for sure. But the same part of Arya that screamed about feminism, the same part of her that pushed her to hookups and meeting and having all the control of her body, knew that _no one_ deserved to have their nudes leaked. 

Even if she was a bitch of a sister, a cold robot, a dumb idiot who shouldn’t of let Joffrey Baratheon have _anything_ , especially not when it could be used against her in the future.

Sansa’s room was at the other end of their long hallway. Arya wasn’t even sure if she came home- maybe she’d slept over with Jon, slept _with_ Jon. If Joffrey had mentioned Jon’s name in the text Gendry had received, then she must have done _something,_ right?

Arya groaned into her pillow. _Why the fuck should she care?_

So she tiptoed down the hallway, as quietly as she could. 

She had one handle on Sansa’s door when it swung open.

_Damn._

Her sister looked like shit. 

She was still in her pajamas, lopsided and wrinkled, and her eyes were red and puffy, her bottom lip trembling. And even worse, she was doing it in front of Arya, which meant that things were really fucked.

“You got it too?” Sansa said, quietly as she glanced down the hallway for their mom.

“Gendry did.” Arya said, and Sansa stifled a sob.

“I can’t go back to school.” She said, her voice small and pitiful.

“Fuck Joffrey.” Arya said, frowning at her. “Go back to school. Who gives a shit about your tits.”

For a moment, Sansa’s face lifted, a small smile quirking at the edges of her lips, looking out of place on her pale, sallow features. But it was gone in a second, Sansa shutting the door in Arya’s face.

Arya supposed that was as close to a _comforter_ as she could get. And as much as Sansa must hate feeling insignificant, it was the truth- and sometimes, that double-edged truth was as much a pain as a relief.

She almost wanted to tell her, then, just to see Sansa’ response. Maybe she wouldn’t be horrified at the secret, maybe she’d giggle for a second, pleased in a dark way at the fact that her younger sister had fucked her cunt of an ex-boyfriend’s _grandpa._

But Arya knew she was putting her emotions into a rather emotionless being; Sansa Stark still was just a mimicry of her mother, a perfect female counterpart of their older brother. She wouldn’t get the same pleasure that Arya would get- all she knew was how to be perfect and prim and proper and _boring as fuck._

But that was fine. There was another person who’d get that text today and would have a lot of shit to deal with, perhaps even more than Sansa herself. 

So Arya called back Gendry, pretending like last night hadn’t happened in favor of getting a ride. They could put off that talk for now, put off whatever had made Gendry act like so unlike the way they always did. 

Jon Snow liked pretty little broken things, and now he’d have to pay for it. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song for this chapter is Color TV by Deal Casino. You may have noticed that I’ve changed the title names back to ‘normal’- I got super anal about having a system there, so I’ll just keep the song for each chapter in the notes, instead of the titles!
> 
> Also, a quick note on ages: I’ve switched them around to make it somewhat more ‘okay’ with the mature content, as well as the dynamic with Sansa/Robb. So, Sansa and Robb are twins, in their senior year, and Arya is in her junior year.
> 
> As always, read and enjoy! If you feel like it, a review is great. I’m reading over all of my reviews currently and they make me SO happy, and really push me to write more.

Sansa spent the entire weekend in bed, curled up in her blankets and pillows.

She knew that it was bad if Arya, of all people, had given her twisted form of comfort. If Arya had known, then there must’ve been even  _ more  _ people that had received the text. Even worse, Gilly had attached another screenshot.

_ Guess Jon Snow likes them used _

__ Sansa felt mortified, wanting to burrow into her blankets and never see the light of day again. Jon probably knew by now-  _ hell,  _ he probably received the text. She wasn’t sure how Joffrey had gotten that far, how he’d known that many numbers, but it didn’t surprise her. 

Even worse, she didn’t feel guilty about sending that picture. 

It was taken over a year ago, before Joffrey had escalated and changed his angry words to angry actions, and at the time she’d honestly thought she’d loved him. Really, truly adored him. Maybe it was her mother’s wants bleeding into her own, but regardless. In that moment, she had thought she was sending a picture to someone she loved.

Seeing it plastered over screenshots of texts, more and more coming in at the minute, had made her stomach turn. 

_ Is this you, Sans? _

__ _ Wtf _

__ _ Is this from Joffrey? _

__ _ Did you cheat on him? _

__ After a while, she just turned it off. 

Part of her wanted to call Jon, even had his napkin in her hand, the number glaring up at her. But it felt wrong- she wasn’t sure he’d even want to talk to her, after she’d made his name the talk of their class. Besides, why  _ would  _ he want to talk to her? They weren’t anything. She’d spent the entire night with him, had felt an odd connection that she’d never felt before, but for what? He hadn’t made a move on her, hadn’t even shown that he had an interest.

She was just projecting again, all her stupid problems and her desperate need for validation.

So she crumpled that up, too, and threw it in the bin in her corner.

And she stayed there, until the sun went down outside her window, until it came back up the next day. She slept, she watched shows she couldn’t remember, she thought. And eventually, when her stomach growled loudly on Sunday night, she went down to the kitchen.

The lights were off in the kitchen, and the huge windows from the living room gave no more light; Sansa squinted at the clock above the oven, surprised to find it after eleven o’clock.

She had school tomorrow. The thought sent her stomach into a mess of anxiety, and suddenly her appetite was nonexistent.

_ No,  _ she told herself.  _ You don’t eat this time, and then you’ll pass out tomorrow. Even more attention you don’t need. _

__ So she opened up the huge, stainless steel fridge, looking through the contents.

“Sansa,” A voice said from behind her, and she stiffened, frozen in place.

“Robb,” She said back, her voice much smaller than she’d been hoping.

When she turned around, she found him staring back at her, his brow low and his mouth in a straight line. His auburn hair was mused, wavy and identical to her own. Tully blue eyes glared back at her.

“Are you okay?” Her twin asked, but his voice was rough, not even as careful as Arya’s had been earlier. It had an edge to it, a condescending tone.

“I’m fine.” Sansa muttered, shutting the fridge door behind her. She was sure she had some granola bars, stashed somewhere in her closet.

“How could you do something that stupid?” He said, getting to the  _ real  _ point. 

There were times, in the Stark household, that she felt as if those around her forgot she was a human being, with flesh and blood and  _ feelings.  _

“It was a long time ago, Robb.” Sansa said, staring at the bowl of oranges on the marble countertop, willing her brother to stop.

“You really don’t get it, do you?” He said angrily, slamming his hands on the countertop. The oranges shook.

Sansa stayed quiet.

“You went and slept with Jon Snow, didn’t you? First you cheat on your boyfriend with  _ him,  _ and then it comes out that you send  _ nude pictures  _ to Joffrey?” Robb’s mouth was agape, his head shaking like he couldn’t believe her.

“I didn’t cheat on Joffrey.” Sansa said firmly, turning his head to stare up at her twin instead. She had her teeth gritting, her heart hurting. “I was just hanging out with Jon. Nothing more.”

Robb laughed, the sound sharp and loud in the large kitchen. “ _ Hanging out?  _ Yeah, sure. Why would someone like you hang out with them? Jesus, Sansa, if you just wanted to sleep with someone, you could’ve picked better-”

“Shut up.” Sansa said, her voice low. It made Robb stop, caught off guard, because it wasn’t something she’d ever done before. Sansa and Robb were a team, to all eyes outside of the Stark household; they were the firstborn of Catelyn and Ned Stark, and as such, were a perfect picture of beauty and success.

And that involved Sansa staying in line.

“I was with Jon. He didn’t touch me. And yes, I sent that picture- a  _ year  _ ago, Robb.” Sansa seethed, staring back into Robb’s shocked face. “But I sure as  _ hell  _ didn’t send it to everyone. You want someone to be mad at, go find Joffrey-fucking-Baratheon.”

He said something behind her, as she ran up the stairs. She heard his footsteps behind her, heavier and louder, but she slammed her bedroom door behind her, locking it shut.

Robb was yelling, his fists hitting the door as he told her to  _ open it up  _ but she just leaned against the door, finally letting herself cry.

\------------

Sansa was up by five the next morning, the dread and anxiety keeping her awake.

She finally checked her phone, looking through the many messages. Most were just cheerleaders, a few of the jocks, some of the people she’d had classes with. The more she read, the more she felt somewhat relieved- most of the comments were disgusted, angry that anyone would leak the pictures of her. 

A few were from random numbers she didn’t have, some lewd comments about her and a few insults towards her. She deleted those with a twist in her gut, biting back tears. She’d never been so outwardly  _ hated.  _ She knew some people disliked her, but she’d always been quick to write it off as jealousy.

Now with the long string of messages, she felt unwavered. Maybe it had all been held back by Joffrey, and with him gone, she was free game. She wasn’t the nicest person at school, but she didn’t think she was  _ that  _ bad. 

But Gilly had sent the last message, just before midnight.

_ I know you’re probably going through a lot now, but just know I’m here if you need anyone. _

__ Sansa had really cried at that, fat tears that she had to blink through to stare at the screen. It was silly, really- but she’d never gotten that sort of support in her entire life. Even with her so-called best friends, who had yet to contact her this weekend, despite the fact that they  _ must  _ know.

It was that text that made Sansa get out of bed once six o’clock hit, made her wash her face and pick out her clothes. She hesitated, looking at the sweatshirts and baggy jeans that she sometimes wore around the house. Part of her wanted to put them on, to wear them as a shield, to  _ hide. _

__ But she felt a small burst of resilience through her.  _ Fuck Joffrey,  _ just as Arya had said.

And so she’d tugged on her dark green sweater, her black skirt, and her sheer black leggings- it wasn’t modest, really, wasn’t anything like what Joffrey had probably  _ wanted  _ her to feel like. 

Smoothing a hand over her long, red hair, she tried to channel as much of Arya as she could in that moment- no matter what she felt of her sister, she knew that she’d handle this situation much better. Probably would kick Joffrey’s ass, actually, but Sansa couldn’t quite do that.

The next best thing was to be unashamed.

\-------------

Sansa heard whispers around her all day.

Walking through the hallways had her putting her chin high, staring straight ahead, while she wanted to cry. She knew that if she cried, the entire situation would be a thousand times worse.

Surprisingly, she didn’t even see Joffrey until fourth period. He wasn’t in as many advanced classes as she was, and for once, she was relieved at that fact.

Robb was in that class, too, but they didn’t make eye contact. He was rigid, his hands clutching the sides of his desk, as she walked by. She pretended not to notice him, even as the girl behind him made a small comment.

Her usual seat beside Joffrey was taken, with a sneering Meryn Trant in her place. He leered at her chest, unashamedly watching her, but Joffrey didn’t give her a second look.

Sansa breathed out a sigh as she found a seat in the back. If she could be ignored by Joffrey, if he could act like she no longer existed, as her punishment, she would be let off easy. She would thank the gods, really.

Gilly slid into the seat in front of her, that same warm smile lighting up her plain face. 

Sansa wasn’t sure what she’d done to deserve Gilly’s kindness, despite all of her mistakes, but somehow she’d gotten it. It was more than what Jeyne had given her; her co-captain wouldn’t meet her eyes when she opened her locker this morning.

“Hi, Sansa.” Gilly said, placing out her many folders in front of her. Gilly was smart, Sansa had remembered, always having her nose stuck in a book. 

Sansa felt bad for always overlooking her, felt shame heavy on her chest as she opened up her own textbook.

“I was told to give this to you,” Gilly said quietly, passing Sansa a tiny note. Sansa blinked at it, amazed that Gilly of all people would sneak her a note, as Ms. Tarth was still droning on in the front, beginning yet another lecture on integrals.

Sansa slid the note underneath the corner of her book, hiding it from anyone else as she read.

_ Meet me behind the greenhouse after eighth period? _

__ And signed at the bottom, in the same messy scrawl as the napkin crumbled up in her bin at home.

Sansa turned her head, mouth opening to ask Gilly a million questions- how did  _ she,  _ of all people, know Jon? She was kind, sweet, and studious, whereas Jon’s group of friends was decidedly not.

“Miss Stark? Something to share?” Ms. Tarth asked, not unkindly, and Sansa’s face burned red. She heard Trant snicker again, saw Joffrey give her a look of utter distaste from the corner of her eye.

Sansa shook her head, and the teacher went back into lesson.

At the end of the class, Sansa sided up next to Gilly, her books clutched to her chest.

“How do you know Jon?” She whispered.

Gilly smiled, her face pink from the attention. “It’s a long story. I think he should probably tell you.”

Sansa couldn’t help but feel discontent at that, frowning despite the warm smile on Gilly’s face. She opened her mouth to say more, but another voice interrupted.

“Sansa, could you stay a moment, please?” Ms. Tarth asked, her voice stern. 

Sansa nodded, standing awkwardly in front of Ms. Tarth’s desk, watching the last few students trickle out. They stared back at her, more so than normal, and she saw a few of the boys glance down at her chest. Sansa grit her teeth.

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you for a while.” Ms. Tarth said, folding her hands in front of her, accenting the drab grey suit she wore. 

Sansa bit her lip. “I’m sorry, is there something wrong with my coursework?”

Sansa couldn’t imagine doing  _ bad  _ in AP Calculus, not with how hard she worked; she did hours of homework a week and had always naturally been gifted in math. She meticulously checked all of her answers, just so she’d never be in this position.

“No, not at all.” Ms. Tarth said, the hint of a smile on her face. “You are actually doing wonderful.”

Sansa nodded, the confusion plain on her face.

“I’ve been recruiting for some of the local mathematics competitions, and I think you’d be a great fit for the team.” Ms. Tarth said, and Sansa couldn’t stop from turning her nose up immediately.

A  _ mathlete.  _ She couldn’t imagine what people would think if she turned into  _ that.  _ If she was with Joffrey still, she knew he’d immediately laugh to the point of tears, not even bothering to give her an answer. Let alone her mother- she was pleased with Sansa’s grades, always pushing her to be smart, but not  _ too  _ smart. Catelyn had never said it aloud, but her small comments were more than enough to show Sansa what really mattered.

She was supposed to marry someone powerful, someone like Joffrey Baratheon, and then things like math and science and english wouldn’t matter anymore. Besides, what wife studied  _ mathematics?  _ It seemed out of the ordinary, and Sansa knew that her mother detested anything like that.

“You don’t have to decide now.” Ms. Tarth said, breaking Sansa from her thoughts. “But keep in mind- if you are looking at some of the top universities, extracurriculars like this are a must.”

Sansa nodded, though she felt like throwing up. 

“Don’t make this decision based on anyone  _ else _ , either, Sansa.” Ms. Tarth added, a twinkle in her light blue eyes as she talked. Sansa felt like she could see right through her, could see past the makeup and the designer clothes down to the empty girl beneath.

“I’ll think about it, Ms. Tarth.” Sansa said, her words hollow and untrue. But if Ms. Tarth had noticed, she didn’t say it.

“Please, call me Brienne.” She added, and Sansa gave her a small, weak nod.

\--------------

Lunch was spent in the library, picking through her lunchbox in the furthest corner table. It was quiet, free of the whispers around her, and Sansa felt relief so strong she could have cried.

Stepping out of there into sixth period was difficult.

Her economics teacher, Mr. Baelish, had stopped her after her last class, his hand lingering in the crook of her elbow for longer than she would’ve liked.

“Sansa, how are you?” He breathed, his voice low and smooth. It had always sent an uncomfortable shiver down her spine.

“I’m fine, Mr. Baelish.” She said, fidgeting under his stare.

“I heard that something happened this weekend.” He said, his voice nonchalant but his eyes intense and curious.

“I’m fine.” Sansa repeated again, feeling irritated. She was sure Jon was waiting for her by now, and she itched to leave Mr. Baelish’s classroom.

“It’s alright not to be fine, Sansa.” He added, pushing a lock of her hair behind her shoulder. Sansa resisted the urge to step out of his reach. “Those private photos- they are a small, intimate part of you. To have them shared to the world- it must be painful.”

Sansa felt her stomach turn, nausea at the thought of Mr. Baelish somehow seeing those photos- who would send them to  _ him?  _ Even Joffrey wouldn’t stoop that low, not with the potential repercussions. 

“Have a good day, Mr. Baelish.” Sansa said quickly, pushing out of his grip and practically running from his classroom.

The cold autumn air hit her, making her take in a few frantic gasps. Gods, the day had been long, and she wasn’t sure how much longer she could put up with it.

Making her way to the greenhouse, she felt a bit of worry in her. What if Jon was mad? What if he hated her?  _ Add him to the list,  _ she thought.

She saw a small wisp of smoke from behind the little greenhouse, and it felt almost familiar. She’d started associating it with Jon, somewhere along the line.

“Hey,” She said quietly as she approached, smoothing her hands down her skirt.

Jon looked her over, pausing a moment too long on her chest, and then he looked away, his face red. 

Sansa bit her lip, forcing herself not to cross her arms over her chest.

“You look-” Jon started, before biting his lip, shaking his head. “Fuck, I probably shouldn’t say anything about how you look, should I? Not after this weekend.”

Sansa laughed a little at that, a sort of sad, dry laugh that had Jon smiling at her in the same way.

“That’s fucked, what Joffrey did.” Jon said, stabbing out his cigarette. He was dressed like he was Friday, but now with a grey shirt over a pair of dark jeans, instead. Simple, surely not designer.

“I’m sorry.” Sansa said, her voice small, wringing her hands together. “I know you’ve probably had to deal with a lot-”

Jon laughed, cutting her off. “Sansa. God, the whole school thinks I slept with a gorgeous girl.  _ You  _ were the one with the bad end of the deal.”

Sansa tried not to feel warm at his words, tried not to let it get to her.  _ You don’t need validation. _

__ “Bad end?” Sansa echoed, looking him over once again. The muscles, the smile on his handsome features, the inky curls on his head. “You’re definitely not a ‘bad end’ of any deal-”

“I meant the picture, Sansa.” Jon said, his face twisted into a wry smile.

“Oh.” She said, her face heating up. “Yeah.”

“Joffrey has no right to spread those around.” Jon said, his voice suddenly passionate. “Hell, he doesn’t have a right to even  _ look  _ at them.”

“I gave it to him a long time ago.” Sansa said, feeling ashamed.

“No, gods, Sansa. You shouldn’t feel ashamed that he spread them around. I’m sure you never expected him too.” He responded.

“I really thought I loved him.” Sansa laughed, tears in the corners of her eyes. “Gods, I was stupid.”

Jon just gave her that sad, knowing smile, a slight twist of his lips. “We can all be stupid, sometimes.”

\---------------

When he asked her if she wanted to grab a bite to eat, she’d accepted in a heartbeat. 

The thought of going home, being alone with Robb and her own thoughts, made her feel sick. She’d made it through the first day back, but that didn’t mean she was in the clear. Not by a long shot.

“I’ve gotta stop by the shop for a second, but then we can go.” He said, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel once again. 

Being in his truck during the daytime was odd, like her brain refused to believe it; she felt out of place, yet strangely comforted, remembering the way he’d consoled her early Friday morning. She also remembered the way his voice had been in her ear, his hot breath near her neck at his house. That had made her squirm a little, settling in the seat.

“Do you work a lot?” Sansa asked. 

Jon shrugged. “I work enough. I try to help my mom out with bills.”

Sansa couldn’t imagine trying to help her parents out with money. She supposed she’d always taken it for granted, really.

A few moments they were pulling into a parking lot, out in front of a large black building. Jon hopped out, and Sansa looked over to him, unsure of what to do.

“You can stay here or come in, whatever you’re comfortable with.” Jon said, and she felt a rush of gratitude at that. Her comfort wasn’t usually something other people took into consideration.

“I will say,” Jon said, slamming the truck door and giving her a grin through the window. “Tormund would love to see you.”

Sansa couldn’t help but hop out of the truck at that, thinking of taking tequila shots with the wild-haired man, his roar of laughter louder than anything else in Jon’s house.

“Well, if it isn’t the cheerleader!” Tormund roared, coming out from behind the counter to wrap her in an unexpected hug. She eyed Jon nervously, but he’d just grinned.

“I thought you’d still be hungover from Friday.” Tormund chuckled as he sat her back down.

“Me too.” Sansa responded, folding her skirt back down her legs and giving him a smile back.

“We’ll just have to do better next time, then.” He shot back, and Jon scoffed from across the room, rummaging through a cabinet in the corner.

“I don’t know,” Sansa said. “Jon may not invite me back next time.”

Tormund snorted. “Fat chance of that, lass.”

Jon sent him a look over his shoulder, but at that moment, another boy came through the back door.

It was the same boy from Friday, the same one that had been holding her sister back. Close-cut brown hair, a tall build, and a warm face.  _ Gendry,  _ that was his name.

“Hey, Jon, I know you’re not scheduled today,” Gendry started, running a hand over his hair. He looked disheveled, caught off-guard. “But could you come look at this bike for me?”

Jon looked over his shoulder, back at Sansa. Tormund gave a cheeky wave, just to include himself in the conversation.

Sansa just nodded, letting him know she didn’t mind. She didn’t exactly fit it here, in the small waiting room, among the car magazines she had little interest in and the worn leather seats. But she’d make do, at least with the cheery redhead at the counter.

Jon nodded, disappearing into the back with Gendry. 

“You’ve got that one wrapped around your finger.” Tormund commented, flipping through a magazine, pretending to be nonchalant.

“Oh yeah?” Sansa said with a small laugh. She tried to ignore the little warmth in her chest, the bit of hope there.

Tormund nodded, abandoning his magazine altogether.

“Never seen him this head over heels before.” Tormund mused. “He was humming all through his shifts this weekend, like some little greenboy.”

Sansa hid a smile behind her hand. “We don’t quite know each other well enough right now, but I’ll keep that in mind.”

Tormund just grinned at that, but before he could respond, a phone began ringing in the next room. He ran into the room, answering the phone with a more controlled, professional voice. It made Sansa smile, shaking her head as she began to flip through the closest magazine.

She heard footsteps, and she looked up, expecting to see Tormund return. 

Instead, Sandor was standing in the doorway, his dark shirt sticking to his body with sweat. Sansa couldn’t help but look, seeing the material stick to his muscles like a second skin, showing off his impressive build, accented by his height. She remembered tripping into him on Friday, hands firmly on that chest, and she quickly looked away.

Right into his eyes, where he was now glaring at her, almost as if she were imposing on his territory.

“Thought Snow would be done with you by now.” He said, and Sansa realized that was the first sentence he’d said directly to her. His voice was deep and dark, lacking the warmth that Tormund or Jon had.

She tried not to let his sentiment sting at her.  _ He can’t get rid of me so quickly now. _

__ “Not yet.” Sansa said, trying to seem as cold as Sandor. She could at least pretend like she didn’t care.

“What are you doing here?” Sandor asked, grabbing a water bottle from the little fridge, tucked behind the counter. His voice was still stony, cold and impassive. 

“I’m waiting for Jon. Gendry needed him for something.” She shot back, closing her magazine.

Sandor snorted. “So you know all of us now? On a first-name-basis, huh?”

“So what if I do?” Sansa shot back, meeting his grey eyes. He looked over her then, eyes roving over her body, accented by her choice of clothing. He shook his head at something she didn’t know, tearing his eyes away.

“Your runt of a sister.” Sandor said, moving to leave the room. “You should have listened to her.”

He was out of the room, gone before Sansa could respond. Instead, he left her in a fit of quiet anger, seething as she crumpled the magazine in her fists.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song for this chapter is 'Remember When’ by Wallows 
> 
> Here's a shorter chapter for me to get back into writing- I really wanted to do Sansa every other chapter, but I'm having a hard time writing Arya right now. I really hate not doing exactly what I planned when I'm writing, but I'm trying to stress less over my writing and instead just do what I really want to. That way, I can enjoy the writing and give you guys more updates!

“Penny for your thoughts?” Jon asked, glancing over at her as the slowed at a stoplight.

Sansa felt her jaw clenched tight, her fists in little balls; she’d been busy thinking, still riled up from the shop.

_ You should have listened to her. _

__ “I’m fine.” Sansa said quickly, trying to ease the tension in her body slowly, so he wouldn’t notice.

She saw a flash of white as Jon shook his head, a small smile on his face.

“Didn’t ask how you  _ were.  _ I asked what you were thinking.” He corrected.

“Homework.” Sansa responded, the first thing that came to her mind. She did have AP Calc homework, after all. It wasn’t a total lie.

Jon seemed to let the subject slide as they pulled into a tiny, old diner. The red paint on the outside was probably once vibrant and striking, but now it was just sun-bleached and chipped, showing its age.

Diner. Food.  _ You’re fine,  _ Sansa told herself, swallowing down her unease. She’d had an apple for lunch, half a protein bar for breakfast. She could use up some calories.

_ But cheer practice isn’t until Wednesday,  _ a little voice told her.

_ I’ll just run a few extra miles tonight,  _ Sansa responded firmly.

“-come here a lot.” Jon said as he held open the door for her, the brassy ring bringing her back out of her head.

Sansa nodded, hoping she hadn’t seemed too far off. A few diners looked up, eyeing her- it certainly wasn’t her side of town, and most the diners seemed of a  _ much  _ different type than she was used it. Worn uniforms, greying hair, the sharp smell of black coffee.

“It’s probably not what you’re used to.” Jon said, with that not-unkind-smirk of his, like he almost enjoyed seeing her out of place. He’d grabbed a menu, slipping it across the table when they slid into a booth.

The rips of the leather booth pushed against her stockings as she slid- she hoped it wouldn’t rip.

“No caviar, then?” Sansa shot back, hoping his laugh would bring her some ease. 

“Hey, now.” Jon said, a mock-serious expression on his face. “Much better than your little  _ fish eggs,  _ okay?”

Sansa grinned, running a finger down the menu absentmindedly.

There weren’t calories listed, which sent another shot of anxiety down deep into her stomach. She didn’t expect a little place like them to have this, of course, but  _ still.  _

It was fine. She had years and years of experience in this kind of thing- it was her whole life, really. Counting calories.

The thought made her giggle to herself, hiding behind the menu so Jon wouldn’t ask questions she’d have to lie about.

Calories. GPAs. Dress sizes. SAT Scores. Her whole fucking  _ life  _ was numbers, and maybe that was why she was so damn good at math.

“I think I’m going with the pancakes.” Sansa told him, narrowing in on a short stack combo. Luckily, they  _ did  _ have egg whites, thank the gods.

“That’s so….” Jon trailed off, tapping his chin. “Vanilla.”

“Shut up.” Sansa responded, grinning despite herself.

“I’ll have you know, I’ll be getting the  _ chocolate chip  _ pancakes.” He told her, stacking up the menus a waitress approached. “I’m a man of culture, after all.”

Sansa scoffed at him, the waitress taking their orders before she could shoot a witty response back.

It was quiet after they got their drinks, just the quiet hum of conversation from the other diners. For a moment, Sansa felt awkward, like she wasn’t sure how to be around the daytime Jon. She’d seen him at his house, the thrum of the music in her ears and the drunkenness making her brave, making her sway into him. But now, in the daylight, she felt sheepish.

“You wanted to know my thoughts from earlier?” Sansa said, quick before she lost her little bit of bravery. Jon looked over sharply, one eyebrow perked up.

“Of course.” He said, easing back into his seat, sipping from his mug. Black coffee, which seemed like a surprise but also seemed so very much Jon Snow.

“Your friend. Sandor.” Sansa said, the word seeming odd when it left her lips. For a moment she felt insecure- he  _ had  _ told her the man’s name, but they’d never been officially introduced. She wondered if she should’ve pretended like she didn’t clearly remember his name.

Jon tensed up at that, a small frown on his face. 

“Why does he hate me so much?” She said quickly, taking a long sip of water to occupy her nervous hands. Jon tapped his fingers on the side of the white, chipped mug.

“Did he do something?” Jon said sternly, eyeing her down in a way she hadn’t seen before. She shivered despite herself, unsure of how to feel under  _ that  _ type of gaze.

“No, he just made it clear I wasn’t welcome in…” Sansa trailed off, unsure of how to word it.  _ Your world.  _ “.....around you.”

Jon made a sharp noise of displeasure. “Gods, he’s such a prick sometimes.”

Sansa didn’t disagree with that.

“He’s just got some issues. He wasn’t exactly fond of your type in high school, still isn’t.”

“That’s a pretty broad generalization.” Sansa said, feeling a bit overprotective.

“He was…. What do you call it?” Jon said, a semblance of a wry smile peaking through. “A Freak.”

Sansa burned red, feeling ashamed.

“Sandor also has a bit of a history with Joffrey.” Jon said, his face turning more serious, more grim. Sansa wanted to ask, to prod and question for reasons she couldn’t quite place, but she didn’t. She knew where her place was, even if Sandor and Arya insisted it was nowhere near Jon.

“Who doesn’t.” Sansa said, a hollow, dry laugh coming from her throat. Jon didn’t share it with her, instead giving her an almost sad look. The pity made her skin tingle, her hand wrap around her glass to bask in the cool feel.

“He also respects your sister a lot. May not seem like it, but they’re close.” He added.

“There we go,  _ that’s  _ the real reason.” Sansa laughed. “Arya despises me.”

“Arya’s a dick sometimes. I can count more people she  _ despises  _ than people she likes.” Jon said, a grin on his face at her laugh. The mood had lightened considerably, the awkward, somber fog lifted somewhat.

“Sounds about right.” Sansa muttered, shaking her head. 

Then there was a plate in front of her, the smell of buttery pancakes making her head spin. The waitress said something, and Jon responded back, all charming and polite. Sansa was too busy eyeing the sizes of the pancakes, doing the math in her head.

Then Jon was pushing something in front of her.

“Okay, you don’t  _ have  _ to, but I insist you smother them with blueberry syrup.” Jon said, grinning at her as he all but shoved the sticky bottle into her hands. Sansa blinked at it.

“It’s homemade,” Jon added, nodding at the bottle. 

Sansa felt a lump in her throat, a slight shake in her head. For a moment, she felt tears stinging at her eyes, that little panic in her head. She hadn’t factored in syrup into her calorie count, and  _ fuck  _ she has to  _ plan these things and she didn’t, syrup was so many calories and gods she forgot- _

__ “Hey,” Jon said, and suddenly it was his hand on her hand, all warm and rough and calloused, calming and somehow understanding. As if Jon Snow could understand  _ that. _

__ “You don’t have to.” Jon said quietly, and when she met his dark eyes, she didn’t see the confusion, the revulsion she expected-  _ she  _ was the freak now, yet he looked at her like he understood her all the same.

So she nodded, taking a deep breath to calm her nerves.  _ Stupid.  _ She was stupid.

_ Who even gets this nervous around food? Gods. _

__ Jon was leaning back into his seat now, carefully cutting up his pancakes into perfect squares. It calmed her, in a weird way, the orderly way he ate. She was used to Robb and Rickon and Bran and hell, even Arya sometimes, shoving their faces full of all the food they could find, junk upon junk. Because they  _ could. _

__ But Jon seemed to be different around food, in an odd way like her. He wasn’t anxious, wasn’t worried about smothering them with syrup- but he respected it all the same, had that weird order with food. When he put the first bite into his mouth, she noticed that he wiped up all the crumbs from that section, made sure not to leave a scrap of food behind.

_ Oh.  _ Sansa thought, realization coming over her. 

The run down house. Mother never home. Worn clothes. Always making small comments about her life, about how much it contrasted his own.

He cherished his food because he didn’t get much of it.

Sansa suddenly felt very, very silly, sitting in her seat, trying to measure out her calories and wonder if she should only eat one pancake instead of two. She’d worried endlessly about food, about the quality and the calories, but she’d never wondered if she’d ever  _ get it again. _

__ “I’ll try it.” Sansa blurted out, reaching across the table to steal the blueberry syrup from him before he could respond. Jon had a fork halfway to his mouth, shocked at her response.

He quickly snapped out of it when she began pouring. And pouring. And pouring.

“You aren’t messing around.” Jon said, grinning at her.

“Someone  _ insisted  _ that I try it.”

\----------------

Her stomach full of blueberry pancakes, Sansa laid back into the seat of his truck, the hum of the engine and the weight in her stomach making her sleepy.

“Gods. That was good.” Sansa moaned, leaning her head against the window. She wasn’t sure when, or how, but somewhere in the past few days Jon Snow’s truck had become an odd sort of comfort, a weird flavor of home. It was silly, and she knew that, but when her own family’s house didn’t even feel like home- well, she latched onto the few places that did.

“I told you.” Jon said, grinning. “Maybe you need to venture out of your palace sometimes.”

“No one will adventure with me.” Sansa said, smiling back at him, but she realize how it sounded, too serious and too much for the moment. His grin was still there, but had faded a little, an odd look on his face when he glanced back at the road.

His voice was quieter when he responded. “I’d adventure with you anytime, Sansa.”

It was small, unsure and vulnerable, and Sansa was reminded again that he wasn’t the confident, smooth guy he tried to be- he was like her, a little bit, trying to fit so hard into what he thought he  _ should  _ be.

And Sansa liked him for that. It made her heart clench, an odd sort of appreciation and fondness. Just like the leather passenger seat of Jon’s truck, it felt normal, even.

“I’d like that.” She said back, softly as well, staring into the road in front of them as to not break the fragileness between them. Whereas things with Joffrey had been well-planned, expected and laid-out, things with Jon were different.

New, unplanned, unique. A nervousness in her bones, but not the usual type. Butterflies.

Jon was typing the numbers into their gate, bringing her back to the reality of it. She was going back now, back into her castle, firmly into a place that wasn’t home. Sansa wasn’t sure if her mother was home, and definitely wasn’t sure if Robb had told her about Joffrey- it set a new wave of nausea through her, not mingling well with the blueberry aftertaste.

“Sansa,” Jon said as he parked on the curb, this time not venturing onto the cobblestone driveway. He looked at her, a few stray curls falling onto his forehead, and she could tell from his careful tone that he was serious.

“You should try and press charges against Joffrey.” Jon said, looking over her face as he spoke, uncertain.

Sansa stayed blank, didn’t feel much of anything, really. Because now, here, in their rich neighborhood, on the  _ right  _ side of town, Jon Snow didn’t understand anymore.

“That would be a waste of everyone’s time.” Sansa said, trying to shug off Jon’s comment as she unbuckled.

He clearly hadn’t expected that response, recoiling back from her.

“He  _ deserves  _ some sort of consequence from this.” Jon insisted, gripping his fist tight around the steering wheel. A small line appeared between his furrowed brows, another look Sansa hadn’t seen before.

“Like I said. Nothing will happen from it.” Sansa said again, feeling somewhat impatient at his insistence.

“He leaked pictures of you.” He scoffed, mouth agape. “He took something you did in private, just for him, and gave it to  _ everyone.  _ Not only that, but you’re underage, so that’s child-”

“Jon.” Sansa said firmly, gritting her teeth. He wouldn’t let him finish his sentence, wouldn’t let him say  _ that,  _ because she couldn’t hear it right now. Her blood was up, almost seething because  _ damn it.  _ He didn’t get it. He wasn’t  _ wrong,  _ but he didn’t know Joffrey Baratheon.

“You can pretend that you know everything about everyone.” Sansa said quietly, watching the hurt flash over Jon’s face, knowing she hit that bit of insecurity he’d accidentally shown her, knowing with a pang of guilt that she went too far this time. Maybe it was the day, maybe it was Joffrey, maybe it was Sandor. But it all combined to make her tired, tired of all of this shit and the fact that she couldn’t do _ anything  _ to hurt Joffrey and that was  _ just that. _

“But you don’t know anything about this.” Sansa finished, throwing a hand out to the world around them- sparking marble, cobblestone paths, expertly-trimmed hedges. Expensive cars, security systems, money upon money upon money.

He looked away from her at that, and she felt the bitter taste of regret on her tongue, her heart clenching. She’d fucked up, on maybe the one person that actually had a semblance of care for her right now.

“Jon..” Sansa said quietly, reaching out to touch his arm.

“Go home.” He said, his voice hard and stony as he recoiled from her touch. She opened her mouth to say something, to try and fix it all, but she saw the tension in his jaw, the way he looked straight ahead. She couldn’t fix it.

So Sansa slipped out of the car, grabbing her backpack and shutting the door softly behind her. And he drove off before she even got onto the driveway, not even bothering to look back at her. Somehow, that hurt more than anything.

Sansa creeped into the house, hoping to avoid any and all Starks. It was empty, luckily, and she was able to lock the door to her room, being completely alone for the first time that day as she sunk into her bed.

And so she shoved her face into her pillow and cried out all the emotions she’d bottled up. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long time, no see, huh?
> 
> I haven’t had much time to update stories lately, with school starting and just general writer’s block. I’m still really invested in this story, because I love the angsty teenage high school stories. 
> 
> Another note here: I’m sorry to all the SanSan shippers, but I think I’ve really decided JonSa for this one. I’ll still be including Sandor, but I’m reworking the relationship into more of a friendship one (if you can believe it at this point) but..... they’re all high-school or fresh out of high-school students still figuring it all out. I’ll leave it at that.
> 
> This one’s an Arya chapter, and the song for it is Daisy by Ashnikko, because Arya would 100% support that singer.
> 
> As always, thanks for reading and feel free to comment!

“He’s brooding again,” Gendry told her, sidling up beside her as she made a near-dash to the cafeteria.

Arya was starving, due to the fact that her mother insisted on keeping only rabbit food in the house. Maybe that worked for Sansa, but it just left Arya slamming cabinets a quarter to eight, Gendry honking outside. 

“He’s always brooding,” Arya shot back, her shoulder slamming into a quarterback’s side because she refused to move. 

He told her something, likely to  _ fuck off,  _ but she just flipped him off over her shoulder. Gendry said something to the football player, trying to smooth over Arya’s warpath.

“I think he and Sansa got into a fight.” Gendry said again, holding open the door to the cafeteria.

“Only a matter of time, I fucking told you so.” She huffed, grabbing a few pastries and slamming them on her tray. 

Gendry eyed her warily at that, his dark blue eyes concerned; it made Arya look away quickly, choosing to ignore it. 

They hadn’t talked about the other night, their little spat. Arya still felt it heavy between them, little unseen tension that made her uncomfortable and angry. Angry because she didn’t know the first thing about addressing that sort of thing, didn’t know anything about solving it. She was fine just pushing it all into a little box in her head, sorting it into the cabinet labelled  _ Things I Don’t Have the Emotional Capacity to Deal With. _

__ It made her snort. Her head was probably just a shit-ton of problematic boxes by now, like she was permanently moving away somewhere with absolutely no intention of ever unpacking her belongings. 

“Fine. We won’t talk about it, but you can’t ignore it.” Gendry shot back, shoving a few dollars to the cashier before Arya could pull the crumpled bills from her jean pocket.

She seethed at that, causing the lady behind the cash register to pause as she opened the machine with a  _ ting. _

__ Gendry just gave her a nice smile, all but pulling Arya to a table in the corner of the bustling cafeteria. She slumped onto the bench, already tearing into a pastry.

“Don’t pay for my shit.” Arya grumbled through a mouthful of sugary sweet cinnamon roll, trying her best not to let the delicious treat sway her pissy mood. She  _ hated  _ it when he bought her stuff, even when it was just a few bucks- he had to work his ass off just to pay for his apartment, his car, his groceries, while she had rich parents at home. Rich parents that frankly didn’t give a fuck about her, making it all too easy to stuff away the cash.

Gendry rolled his eyes, leaning back until he rested against the wall behind him. He crossed his arms over his chest, the movement drawing Arya’s eyes to his biceps, straining against his long-sleeve flannel.

Fuck, add horny to the list. She was pissy and horny now. She hadn’t hooked up with anyone since last Friday, not since goddamn Tywin Lannister, and that was an issue. Especially if she was looking at Gendry, of all people.

“You feeling any better now?” He asked, nodding to her pile of plastic wrappings, making her scowl.

She opened her mouth to say something snappy, but just wrinkled her nose, weighing her options. Not time for another fight.

“Yeah.” She settled on finally, ignoring his broad smirk. She wasn’t lying. Maybe all she needed in order to get her shit together, stop sleeping around with random, sketchy men, and stop endangering her life on the daily was to in fact inhale pastries at an inhuman rate.

Nah. Her mom would probably let her die before she let pastries become a staple in the Stark household.

\---------------------

Jon wasn’t in sixth period that day, which somehow worried  _ and  _ annoyed Arya even more.

It was a Geography elective, and the teacher, Mr. Luwin, could barely see six feet in front of him, let alone notice if anyone skipped. Hell, Arya herself skipped virtually every other day, bored to death at hearing Luwin go off on his tangents, usually focused on the same story he’d told the day before. But Jon rarely skipped, and that made her text him.

_ Where are you. _

__ She didn’t get an answer until class was almost over.

_ At the shop. _

__ Arya was happy he hadn’t yet thrown himself into oncoming traffic, for sure, but she still groaned nonetheless at that response. Jon Snow always worked while he brooded, always busying his hands underneath some car or some bike.

It meant it wasn’t good, and that Gendry was right, which somehow made it all so much worse.

After her last class, she booked it to the gym, knowing Gendry’s schedule like the back of her hand.

“I’m coming with you to the shop.” She told him matter-of-factly, watching him shoving his belongings into his bag. He raised an eyebrow at her, slinging it over his shoulder.

“Jon’s there.”

“Oh god. It’s real bad, isn’t it?”

\------------------------

When they came in the front door, the first thing Arya realized after the bell stopped chiming was the female voice whining through the speakers.

“The fuck is this?” Arya shot at Tormund, who was flipping through a magazine at the front desk, the oil smeared across his hands dotting the pages.

Taylor Swift finished up on the speakers, lamenting about yet another boy, her sad song finally coming to an end. Much, much different than the normal lazy rock they had playing, and it made Arya wonder if she were making it up.

“Snow’s sad,” Tormund shrugged, rubbing at his wild red beard. “Thought I’d give him some mood music.”

Arya chose to shrug that one off with a shake of her head, following Gendry to the back. Tormund was a bit touched, that was known, but this was a whole new level.

Bronn was in the back, pulling something from the dingy fridge in the corner. He nodded towards Arya, a sheen of sweat on his forehead, his brownish curls sticking down.

“Come to take yours for a ride now?” He grinned.

“I wish,” Arya grumbled, thinking of her bike in the back, probably covered in a thin layer of dust by now; she hadn’t found much time to take it out, not since school had started back. She wasn’t like Sansa, wanting to get into the top universities and do god-who-knows-what, but she sure as hell wasn’t about to flunk out and spend another year in school.

“Clegane says he’s gonna scrap her for parts if you don’t come get her soon.” Bronn shot back.

“Tell him I’ll castrate him if he touches her.” Arya shot back, knowing good and well Sandor was all bark, no bite. He talked shit all day long, but he wasn’t that awful of a man. Not like his brother.

The door to the garage and the back opened, and a tired-looking Jon stood in the doorway, grey eyes blinking at the number of people shoved into the small room.

“Just the person I was looking for.” Arya said sarcastically, crossing her arms over her chest. 

“I’m getting to work,” Gendry announced, slipping past Jon’s tense form to escape to the machines outside.  _ Coward,  _ Arya scoffed to herself.

“What are you doing here?” Jon said, his voice rather reserved and quiet as he made himself a glass of water. His back was ramrod straight, likely already knowing the answer to his question.

“What’s got you acting like a little girl?” Arya said, a broad, sugary-sweet grin on her face. The best approach? No, probably not. But hey- she’d probably be the perfect little therapist once she cleared out all those boxes in her head, so there was that.

“Don’t wanna talk about it.” Jon said stiffly. Bronn looked between the two, leaning back in his chair, eyebrows raised high.

“Is it my sister?” Arya shot back. “We’ve talked about this, Jon-”

“Oh, shut up, Arya.” Jon snapped back, his anger catching her off-guard. She was used to brooding, quiet Jon, but never an angry, bitter Jon. She very much liked the former over the latter.

“There’s nothing  _ wrong  _ with your sister.” Jon said firmly. “I fucked up, I went too far, okay? Not her.”

Arya swallowed at that, wishing she had something to occupy her hands with. Usually her and Jon’s arguments were brief, sometimes fiery and spirited, but never really spiteful. Over in an instant, good as new. 

“Uh,” Arya said awkwardly, gritting her teeth. “Would you like to talk about it?”

That question made Jon freeze halfway to the door, his eyes still frozen ahead. Bronn, who had busied himself on his phone, pretending not to be there, now had his head perked up, staring at her in amazement.

“I mean it.” Arya grumbled. She was never fucking saying that again, that was for sure.

Jon looked at her, really looked at her this time. His dark brows were furrowed, like she’d caught him completely off guard.

“Or not.” Arya huffed, throwing her arms up.

“No,” Jon said quickly, moving to finally slump into the seat in front of her. “Let’s talk.”

“Oh.” Was all she could say.  _ Wasn’t expecting that. _

__ “Bronn?” Jon offered, causing the man to jolt up quickly, pretending as if he had no idea what was going on.

“Of course, of course.” Bronn said, wiggling his eyebrows to Arya, right over Jon’s head, as he left. 

Arya kinda wished he would’ve stayed, because she wasn’t quite sure if she could handle this. Maybe if she was born into one of those gushy lovey households, with a mom and dad who checked on her and asked how she felt and shit, with siblings that were there and actually acted like they were related to her. But that sure as hell was not the Stark household.

“I want her to press charges against Joffrey.” Jon said firmly, tapping his fingers anxiously against the metal table. “It’s fucked, what he did to her. It won’t just disappear, and he can’t go around knowing he can get away with it.”

“I think she just wants to pretend it didn’t happen.” Arya said quickly, before she could think of something better to soothe Jon’s anger.

“But it did.” He shot back, his hands in fists. For a moment, she felt like the boy across from her wasn’t one of her closest friends, but instead some stranger she didn’t even know, wearing Jon’s face but much, much angrier inside. “She deserves some sort of justice, revenge, something. I think they could argue that it’s child pornography, and that would fuck up his future-”

“Oh my god.” Arya could stop herself. “You really like her, don’t you?”

“I-” Jon started, his chest still heaving, halfway through his tirade. He looked away from her. “It’s terrible what was done to her. No one deserves that.”

“Yeah, as much as I agree, try telling that to the Baratheons. His dad practically runs the place.” Arya said, keeping her voice small and schooled, trying not to make him even madder. 

“I know Judge Baratheon, okay? But even he can’t brush past a child pornography charge. It’s pretty cut and dry, Arya.” Jon insisted.

“You don’t know them.” Arya said simply.

“That’s what Sansa said.” Jon said, gritting his teeth. “I fucking get it, alright? I’m not like you all, I’m not rich, I don’t have a connected family, I  _ know it.” _

__ Arya laughed at that, wondering how anyone could really be jealous of the Starks. They were like a dollhouse at this point, all little porcelain dolls arranged perfectly for any onlookers to gawk at. They were fucking  _ plastic,  _ all of them, and hell, herself included. Fake as shit.

It was the wrong move to make, and she knew that even before Jon stood up quickly, chair scraping harshly against the metal floor.

“Jon,” Arya shouted, before he could slam the door behind him. He paused, though he didn’t turn around to look at her. 

“Just talk to her. She came home crying like a baby last night. She’s obviously not angry at you, okay?” She said, the words a huff from her chest. Gods, she envied Gendry right now.

Jon looked back at her, his face open and vulnerable, more than she’d seen in a long, long time. 

Oh, fuck. She did  _ not  _ like that look, and did not like the idea that it had to do with her sister. 

“Just be careful, okay.” Arya said sharply.

“She’s not nearly as bad as you think.” Jon said simply. “She’s a good person. She’s just got too many people trying to make her be someone else.”

He shuts the door behind him after that, headed back into the garage. She watched him through the window, seeing the way his step is lighter, his shoulders not as tense anymore. He slips his phone from his back pocket, typing something there before getting back to work.

Arya doesn’t want it to, but his words stayed with her nonetheless. Porcelain little dolls, all of them, but she never stopped to think that maybe Sansa didn’t like being one, either. 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I’m just as amazed that I did two updates in one day.
> 
> I just couldn’t not do a Sansa update. I love Arya, but Sansa is my favorite. Anyways, the song for this one is Constellations by The Oh Hellos. Why? No idea. It just is.
> 
> As always, thank you for reading!

Sansa slept through her alarm that morning, finally falling to sleep at some ungodly hour, her eyes puffy and her heart heavy.

She’d taken one look in the mirror that morning and had already known the day was going to be a rough one. There were bags under her eyes, which were still red and slightly bloodshot. She looked like shit.

“ _ Sansa!”  _ Robb yelled from downstairs, and Sansa sighed, tugging on a Kings Landing Lions sweatshirt. When she saw herself in the mirror, she glared at the proud lion on the front, thinking of Joffrey in an instant. She certainly wasn’t looking her best today, and he’d probably be the first one to let her know.

_ Fuck it.  _ Sansa sighed to herself, sounding more like Arya than herself. She was too tired.

She tried not to think about Jon, tried not to think about the fact that she may have really lost the one person that actually treated her like a human being. Treated her like she was capable of screwing up and that it was  _ okay. _

__ And it was all her fault, of course.

“You look rough.” Her twin said as she descended the stairs, trying to tame her mane of hair. 

It stung. If their relationship was better, if they were a  _ normal  _ family that acted like they were loving and caring, it may have been a twin brother just caring about his sister. But she knew Robb, and she knew how he was.  _ Appearances, appearances.  _

Like a male version of mother, all with her father’s ambition to pair. A dangerous pair, at that.

“I don’t feel good.” Sansa said quickly, ducking her head down as she got into his sleek, shiny car. She always felt weird on his leather seats.

“Then you should stay home.” Robb sighed, throwing his backpack into the back, tapping something into his phone before he started up his car.

“I can’t miss. I have to tutor today.” Sansa said simply. Tutoring, she could do that. She had just a few middle school students that she helped each Tuesday, and it was a win-win situation for both parties: she got another accolade on the resume for college, and the students passed their algebra exams. 

Sansa feels a little icky, thinking of it that way, but that was how she’d been bred and trained to look at everything.  _ How will it help me. _

__ Robb doesn’t say anything to her, even after they pull into the parking lot at school. He grins and waves at a few of his teammates as he pulls by them, and Sansa slinks further into her seat. They’d all seen her bare chest, thanks to Joffrey, and she could feel their eyes on her. 

Maybe Jon was right. The thought frightens her, but gods, she’d do anything to feel in control right now. To feel like it wasn’t all spiraling away from her.

“I’ll pick you up after school.” Robb says simply as he leaves her, right after he shuts his car door. He doesn’t pretend that they’re affiliated anymore, even though everyone knows the Stark twins. She supposes he has to wait until everyone forgets about her pictures, and then she can be around him again.

Jon was probably the only person who  _ didn’t  _ drop her after the pictures, other than Gilly. It makes her chest twist uncomfortably, and she pushes it away quickly.

She realizes she didn’t even have time to remind Robb that she’d be tutoring, and wouldn’t be ready until probably an hour after school. The thought of texting him right now makes her queasy, so she decides not to do that, either.

Sansa takes a deep breath, and she walks into school again, alone again, two days after the entirety of the school has seen her pictures.

\------------------

AP Calculus was still hell, but a slightly easier hell. 

Joffrey looked at her in disgust, his nose wrinkled as he took in her dressed-down self. Gilly noticed, and she was quick to talk to Sansa, pointing eagerly at problem three from the homework because  _ I’m not sure if I was supposed to take the integral or not at this point, what did you do? _

__ Sansa thanks all gods above for Gilly. She’s no longer surprised that she’s friends with Jon, though she still doesn’t know how they came to be close. They’re of the same breed, though, even if Gilly seems a bit more apt to dive into calculus textbooks.

Brienne begins to teach, and it feels somewhat normal again. It’s a little pathetic of her, but Sansa thanks the gods for math, too, because at least math didn’t change. Math didn’t date you for three years, slap you at a dinner party, leak your nudes. 

Before she leaves, Brienne stops her again, just to give her more details about the mathematics competition. It makes Sansa wince before she can stop, and luckily, Brienne takes the hint.

“I’ll give you a little more time to think about it.” She says simply, plain and dry in the way the intimidating woman always did. She was an odd lady, her reserved, calm nature making her seem much older than her real age somewhere in the mid-twenties. It had surprised Sansa when she’d first found out.

“And Sansa, if you ever need to talk. I’m here.” Brienne said a bit awkwardly, her mouth twisting into a smile that seemed to be unknown for both of them. Sansa just nodded, wanting to leave the classroom immediately.

It was a lot nicer than Mr. Baelish’s words, and seemed a lot more sincere, too, but it made her feel pitiful nonetheless. 

The day finally rolled to an end, and Sansa found herself back in the massive library.

It was quiet, most students having left for the day, and Sansa allowed herself to drop her head into her hands, her shoulders slumping, breathing in the smell of books around her.

It was comforting. She was in this place just last week, before she went to that party with Jon, before Joffrey broke up with her and sent those pictures, before she said awful words to Jon. It was a reminder: the world goes on despite it all.

“Hi, Sansa.” A kind, small voice said. Sansa shot up quickly to see Shireen Baratheon in front of her, a small smile on her face.

“Hi, Shireen. How was your week?” Sansa asked as the young girl began to unpack her homework. She was in Rickon’s grade, just now starting her algebra courses. 

They began going it over, the simplicity and routine of it making Sansa feel better. She knew this, she could do this. 

They finished up right before four o’clock, right as her new student came in. She bid Shireen a quick goodbye, giving her a new assignment for the next week, and turned to talk to the newcomer.

She was a slight girl, wiry and small. She reminded Sansa of Arya, with her shoulder-length brown hair and light grey eyes. But instead of the normal hardened, bitter glare, this girl was smiling shyly, her cheeks reddened.

“Hi, my name is Sansa.” Sansa introduced herself, trying to give her a warm smile to ease her nerves. She nodded, still obviously out of her comfort zone.

“I’m Elaine.” She said quietly, her voice small.

They started the homework, and Sansa was immediately taken aback by the girl- she was smart.  _ Very  _ smart. She whizzed through the homework, needing next to no assistance from Sansa.

“Wow,” Sansa laughed, feeling genuinely pleased, but confused altogether. “I have to ask, Elaine- you seem to know your stuff, how do you need my help?”

“Well…” She said, wringing her hands in her lap. “I don’t know?”

“You must know a little.” Sansa said, trying to give her an encouraging smile to continue.

“It’s not hard.” Elaine said quickly, her cheeks reddening. “The math. I can do more.”

“I think you’re right, Elaine. Have you tried talking to your teacher about perhaps getting advanced work?” Sansa suggested, watching the girl folding the edges of her homework, busying her hands with the actions. 

“He’s mean.” Elaine said quickly. “I don’t like talking to him.”

Sansa was still trying to put the pieces together in all of it- the girl was incredibly shy and seemingly anxious, her hands always busy and eyes always darting about. When she focused on her work, however, she seemed to do wonderfully. 

_ She’s in control,  _ Sansa thought to herself, a hard lump in her throat.

“How about this,” Sansa offered. “I can try to talk to your teacher, and in the meantime, I can lend you one of my old trigonometry textbooks. Sound good?”

Elaine nodded quickly, a small, fleeting smile flashing across her face.

“Awesome, I’ll try and get it to you in the next few days.” Sansa told her, right as the library doors opened, the sound loud and echoing in the empty library.

Sandor Clegane was in the library, his steps paused as he saw Sansa. For a moment, his scowl stopped too, but it was quickly back in place.

Elaine turned around in her seat and gave a bright smile to the man, and Sansa put all the pieces together, shocked she hadn’t seen the resemblance there, from the brown hair to the dark grey eyes.  _ Elaine Clegane. _

__ “It was nice to meet you, Elaine.” Sansa said to the girl, giving her a brief smile.

Sandor was still half-glaring at her, but it was half-hearted, almost confused.

_ Good,  _ Sansa thought.

“Hi. I’m Elaine’s tutor.” Sansa said to him, giving him the same smile she did Elaine, albeit a bit more forced and sharp now.

He looked down at her, nodding briefly.

“I’m Elaine’s brother.” He said, and Sansa was momentarily stunned. Not by the revelation, no, but in the fact that his response was for once  _ not  _ a curse or rude sentiment in her direction.

“I believe we’ve met.” Sansa shot back, knowing she shouldn’t irritate his distaste for her any further, but part of her couldn’t help it.  _ He judged me wrong.  _

__ “Believe we have.” He grumbled, the scowl finally gone from his face. There was a bit of oil on his jeans, on the ends of his fingertips. He looked tired, like he’d just come from work. Perhaps too tired to hate her, too.

“I’ll see you next week, Elaine.” Sansa said brightly as they left, waving to the shy girl. She didn’t miss the way Sandor looked back at her, either, the odd look that crossed his face. Guilt, she realized.

_ Good. _

__

__ \-----------------

She was sitting outside the steps of the gym, the clock nearing five o’clock on her phone, when she finally texted Robb.

_ Hey, I had to tutor. Can you please pick me up? _

__ She worded it as nicely as possible, hoping to escape his ire that would surely follow. She waited five minutes, then ten, then fifteen, and realized she wasn’t getting a response.

Knowing Robb, he was probably either with his teammates or with some girl, probably ignoring her text completely at this point. It didn’t surprise her.

She looked through her earlier texts, a knot already in her stomach. When she’d first gotten out of tutoring, she’d seen a notification from Jon, and she’d pushed it aside quickly, feeling too guilty to even open his text at this point.

Now, she just sighed and did it anyways, expecting the worst.

_ Hey, I’m really sorry about yesterday. Can I see you? _

__ It took her aback. She’d expected what she was used to- Joffrey. She’d expected to be called a million awful names, to be told she wasn’t worth anything, to feel like shit. But instead he’d just asked to  _ see her.  _ Like he really wanted to.

She pressed call.

He picked up after the first ring.

“Hey,” Sansa said, her voice a little breathy, out of control.

“Hey,” Jon’s voice said back, a little eager, hopeful, bright. 

“If you want to see me, I’m currently stranded outside the high school.” Sansa laughed, staring around at the empty parking lot around her, a wild grin on her face.  _ Deja vu. _

__ “Well, you know how I like damsels in distress. Be there in five.”

__

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hate a terrible Robb Stark, I really do. But I’m really having fun with the ‘less-than-perfect’ Stark family here, and part of that is a shitty Robb. 
> 
> Anyways. I don’t usually write fluff so writing a bit of it for Jon and Sansa here is making my heart happy. I’m gonna have to switch to a fluffy writer now, I swear.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another Sansa chapter here! I’ve been feeling a lot of inspiration to write the past week or so, so I’ve been writing and updating as much as I can.
> 
> As always, thank you for reading and feel free to comment! I love reading the comments, even if I don’t always apply to them all!

Life seemed to fall back into a rhythm after that.

After the first week, Sansa no longer felt like the center of attention at school. Technically, she’d been the center of attention for years, hanging off of Joffrey’s arm, reveling in being co-captain of the cheer squad, banking in yet another perfect grade. That all was quickly swept over by infamy, after Joffrey had dropped her and sent that text. 

But even the nastiest of them got quickly bored with her. Hard to continuously beat someone once they were down for good, she supposed.

Cheer practice was rough, as she’d expected, but she lived. She’d steeled herself and gave the same bright smile at the quiet whispers, deciding that if the pictures  _ had  _ to be brought up, it wouldn’t be her doing it. 

Jon had taken her out for ice cream after practice, laughing at her recounting of Jeyne flinching from her touch while trying to make sure she didn’t fall from the top of the pyramid. 

“I’m unclean now, I guess.” Sansa giggled, watching his wide grin stretch across his face. For all his brooding, all his dark features and calm demeanor, he was  _ bright.  _

“Gods, as if they haven’t done the same.” Jon scoffed, stabbing a spoon into his cup of chocolate scoops. Sansa glanced down at her own, noticing the large remainder left in her cup, staring back up at her, mocking her.

_ Fuck it,  _ she thought.  _ Fuck all of this.  _

She was sounding more and more like Arya, really, and she wasn’t convinced it was a bad thing.

Sansa had eaten the rest of her mint chip ice cream then and there, laughing as Jon told a story about Tormund pissing off some middle-aged woman who’d brought her minivan in. It was an oddly happy moment, a bright moment out of one of the worst weeks of her life: still in her cheer skirt, her hair greasy from post-practice sweat, the hum of Jon’s truck underneath them, shoveling in yet another spoonful of ice cream with the heaters blasting. 

In that moment, she convinced herself it would all be okay.

\---------------

Her mother had to ruin it, two weeks later.

“We’ve gone every year,” Catelyn Stark had hissed, tucking a perfect strand of auburn hair behind one ear- heaven forbid she ever look disheveled.

She’d been across the country with her husband the past week while he brokered another deal for the family business; Sansa only knew because the maid had told her one afternoon. 

Sansa tried not to take it to heart, but she wasn’t used to being the black sheep out of the bunch- normally it was her mother telling her about their next business venture, the next event Ned Stark would have to attend with a beautiful wife on his arm. She’d give Sansa a hug, encourage her to keep up her workout regime and homework, and promise to bring back some new, pretty pair of shoes for her.

Now, she was just left in the dark, until her presence was actually needed.

Well,  _ presence  _ was a strong word. It was her name and her face that they needed.

“It’s non-negotiable. We go to the Gala every year, and it is vital that your father have our support there.” Her mother insisted, and Sansa could see her teeth gritted. Gritted towards  _ her _ , not Arya.  _ Her. _

__ “I can’t. Not after what…” Sansa trailed off, unsure of how to word it. Her parents hadn’t said a word to her about what had happened, but they must have known. Robb probably called them up first thing that morning, or- gods, even worse, Cersei Lannister may have very well told them herself, trying to cover up her son’s tracks.

“You will, or you will not stay under my roof.” Her mother said.

“That’s not fair!” Sansa hissed, feeling that same anger burning in her chest, the same one Joffrey had ignited. 

“Get over it. Show your face, smile a little, and then it’s over. It’s the least you could do for us after-” Her mother’s voice cut out, stuck in her throat, and Sansa curled her hands into fists.

“After what?” Sansa pushed, quiet now. 

“It doesn’t matter anymore.” Catelyn said quickly, tilting her chin up slightly, proudly. “You’re going, and that’s that.”

Sansa wished she was more like Arya in that moment- more fiery, more bold, more tenacious. But she’d never been Arya, and she never would be Arya, so she settled with just slamming the front door on her way out.

\--------------------

The next week came quick, each day bleeding into another, and Sansa felt nothing but anxiety brewing inside her. 

Jon had texted her days ago, but she’d been too nervous to text him back, her stomach in knots. She wasn’t sure if she could explain the Kings Landing Educational Gala to him- it was disgusting, all sparkling, glitzy waste of money, full of rich donors (including her father) and their bitchy children. It was something he’d hate, for sure, and knowing him, he’d tell her not to go once he heard who would surely be in attendance.

They’d already been walking a little on ice since their spat a few weeks prior- they ignored it when Joffrey or the Lannisters came up, trying not to think about what he’d urged her to do. She couldn’t think about that right now.

Jon was protective. It shouldn’t be a surprise to her, since he was friends with her spirited sister, but it was still surprising nonetheless. She wasn’t sure she’d ever had someone really care about her despite her fuckups, despite her shortcomings, and she wasn’t sure how to deal with it other than try to ignore it.

The Tuesday of the gala week, she struggled to pay attention during the tutoring sessions. She’d given Shireen the wrong formula twice, had almost given her calculus homework instead of algebra, and then she had to have Elaine correct her on a problem. 

“I’m so sorry,” She’d said, rubbing a hand over her tired face. To say she wasn’t getting sleep was an understatement- she tossed back and forth, trying to plan it all out, trying to feel some sort of control in the situation.

“It’s okay, we all mess up sometimes.” Elaine had said politely, her voice not quite as mousy as their first session weeks ago. She was slowly opening up, slowly becoming alright with Sansa’s presence.

Her brother was still stony as ever, but in the few times she’d been at the shop, he’d stopped glaring at her, so it was a start.

When he’d picked up Elaine later that day, he’d actually stopped to talk to Sansa, which had amazed her.

“Um,” He’d said, his hands shoved awkwardly in his pockets. He seemed genuinely uncomfortable, an almost-wince on his face as she shoved a textbook into her bag.

“Thank you for helping Elaine.” He said quickly, as if the words pained him. 

“Of course.” Sansa shot back, finally turning to face him fully. He was a huge man, well over six feet tall, but in the moment he seemed not near as intimidating as before. “She’s incredibly smart.”

“Yeah.” He said, gritting his teeth. “Snow told me what happened to you.”

Sansa froze at that, wincing as she slung her backpack over one shoulder. She knew that Gendry had known, and that alone had made her want to melt into the ground, but the thought of the rest of Jon’s friends knowing made her downright nauseous.

“It’s fucked. That family’s a bunch of cunts.” Sandor said, still uncomfortable, but his chin up now, some sort of fire alight behind his eyes. 

“Yeah, they are.” Sansa said softly. 

“Thought you were one of them.” He grumbled again, that half-scowl now making its way back on his face. “Snow’s been hurt by a lot of rich fuckers. Don’t be one of them.”

And with that, he left the library in a hurry, leaving Sansa to stare at the space where he’d been. She had a lot of questions, a lot of things she wanted to ask Jon, a lot of things she wanted to say to Jon, but she couldn’t help but smile a little.

Jon wasn’t the only overprotective one. She could respect that. 

\----------------

She texted Jon that night, finally answering the message he’d sent a few days ago.

_ Sorry, I really needed some space. _

__ It sounded shitty, even as she clicked send, and she groaned aloud to the darkness of her room.

_ It’s okay. _

__ He sent it a few minutes later, and it made Sansa feel like an even shittier person.

_ Not from you, I just got some bad news. _

__ Just a moment later, she got another response from him.

_ Call? _

__ That made Sansa sit up in bed. Which was stupid, really, because she’d talked to Jon on the phone a handful of times before. It still made her nervous nonetheless- she was in her bed, late at night, wearing an old pajama set of hers. 

_ It’s Jon,  _ she scolded herself. Why the hell would she be nervous?

She pressed call, and a few rings in, he picked up.

“Hey,” He said after a moment, his voice tentative. It echoed a little, and Sansa could hear the hum of his truck in the background. 

“Little late to be driving around.” Sansa said, grinning a little to herself.

“They’re called depression drives, Sansa.” Jon scoffed, his voice light. That made her laugh, a small little snort that was entirely too embarrassing.

She could practically hear him smiling on the other end. “Gotta clear your head somehow.”

“It was this or go to the shop, and Tormund’s took my key for the week.” Jon said. “He said I worked too much.”

“He’s not wrong. May as well put a bed in the back for you.” Sansa shot back, settling into her pillows.

“I’ve thought about it.” Jon responded. “But what I’d really like to know is what’s on  _ your  _ mind.”

Sansa sighed at that, coming back to reality to remember what was happening this Saturday, like a cold bucket of water was tossed over her.

“You know the Kings Landing Educational Gala?” Sansa said tentatively, tracing her fingers on the fringe of her pillows.

“Can’t say I do.” Jon responded. “I’m not part of that world, remember?”

That made Sansa wince, thinking of their fight yet again, but his words didn’t hold any anger.

“You’re not missing much. It’s exactly what you’d expect.” She shot back.

“Bunch of rich people throwing money around?”

“Oh yes. And the Starks have gone every year, and mother insists that this year be no different.”

His response was instant, like he was putting together all the pieces as fast as possible, before she could even get there herself.

“Joffrey will be there.” Jon said, his voice no longer light and joking, now just matter-of-fact.

Sansa was quiet for a moment, weighing her words.

“Don’t go. You shouldn’t have to go through that shit again.” Jon said, his voice angry, controlled.

“I have to.” She said quickly, not wanting to say the last part. Knowing him, she was sure she’d know his response to that-  _ you always have a spot at my place. _

__ “That’s fucked.” He continued. “Do your parents even give a shit?”

Sansa laughed. “Oh yes, they very much do, but they’re just mad I took the pictures in the first place.”

Jon muttered something under his breath, something she couldn’t hear. His truck was quiet now, probably parked somewhere along the side of the road, god knows where.

“Jon.” She said quietly, her fingers finally still on her bedspread, trying to be calm. 

“Still here, red.” He said gently, and she felt her heart beat faster on the little throwaway name at the end, the bit of fondness there. It pushed her forward to her next sentence.

“Will you go with me?” Sansa said quickly, stumbling over her words. Even in her dark bedroom, her face was alight, burning from nerves.

“I promise it’s god-awful but we could go together and just find a place to get away from all of them and it’ll make my parents happy to have me there and-”

“Of course I will.” Jon said finally, and she could hear that little tilt to his words, that laughter within them.

“Okay. Okay, good. Awesome.” Sansa said, feeling ridiculous- she’d dated boys before, boys everyone had wanted- handsome, rich, connected- and had never once felt so damn  _ nervous _ . Gods, she was surely dying at this point.

“Were you actually nervous about asking me?” Jon laughed on the other end, his head hitting the leather headrest behind him. She could practically see him smiling at his ceiling, black curls falling around his face, those arms crossed across his chest.  _ Bright,  _ she thought again. So very bright.

“Gods, yes.” Sansa groaned as he laughed, stuffing her face in her hands. 

“Don’t ever worry about that.” He shot back. “I’ll go to any stupid gala for you.”

\----------------------

She’d missed dressing up, if she were being honest.

Part of that made her feel vain, feel like she was truly playing into the stereotype most had of her. Rich, vapid Stark girl. But there was something about finding her favorite dress, slipping into her best pair of heels, going through the meticulous routine of makeup and hair, that made her feel in control. It made her feel strong, because for once, she didn’t  _ have  _ to look good if she didn’t want to.

With Joffrey, it was a requirement. If she didn’t look her absolute best, he would point it out, would insist she fix it then and there. 

It was the weirdest thing, though- she now really, really wanted to look her best. It was silly, because Jon had seen her at her worst, without a stitch of makeup and in an old sweatshirt, sitting outside the gym after tutoring. Gods, he’d even seen her  _ throw up outside a McDonalds.  _ It was a wonder he was still even around her.

And so she worked for hours, carefully constructing the Sansa Stark everyone else was used to. Everyone but Jon Snow.

It was worth it.

After her parents left, Rickon and Bran with them, she’d heard his truck pull up the cobblestone driveway, much louder than the sleek cars of their neighborhood. She’d grown accustomed to it.

He’d stepped out of the truck to greet her, and had frozen, his mouth opened slightly, his hand frozen on the door of his truck. 

And gods, if he didn’t look hot. He was always that way, really, and she’d be a liar if she said she hadn’t noticed it from the moment they’d met after the football game. But he was now in a completely black suit, a black button-up underneath, and a sleek black tie to polish it off- it was dark, refined, and very much not what she was expecting.

She was probably drooling when he’d started talking again.

“You look amazing.” He’d said, a broad, nervous grin on his face. His unruly black curls were slicked back, and even his beard had been trimmed. He’d said that Gendry and Tormund were going to help him- she needed to send them a thank-you card or something.

Sansa had carefully picked out a sleek grey dress of her own, a bit shorter than what she’d normally wear, but her mother had wisely chosen not to comment on it. 

_ Why not play into what they think,  _ she thought. 

“You look very handsome yourself.” She shot back, giving him a small grin as she slipped into her side of the truck. She watched his hands as he pulled out of the driveway, shifting into another gear, the muscles in his arms flexing.

She was still nervous as hell for the gala, but she thanked the gods for the view.

“Do your parents know I’m coming?” Jon offered finally, after he’d finished sneaking little glances at her. Still, his eyes drifted down the length of her, settling on her exposed legs.

“The road, Jon.” Sansa teased, and he even turned a little pink, gripping the steering wheel tighter. “And I told them I was bringing someone, but not who.”

“Arya’s bringing Gendry.” Jon said quickly, as if he let out a secret.

“Oh gods.” Sansa could help but laugh at that. “They’ll be more preoccupied with Arya bringing a boy for once than they will not knowing you.”

“Well, just in case….” Jon trailed off, looking behind him to switch lanes. “Tormund taught me how to give a good handshake. In case I meet your dad and all.”

Sansa lost it at that, laughing so hard that tears came to her eyes- the idea of big, wild Tormund making Jon perfect the handshake.

“Did you call him  _ Mr. Stark _ ?” Sansa giggled.

“I wanted to be prepared!” Jon hissed, fighting back a grin of his own. Sansa reached out to him instinctively when she laughed, settling her hand over his own. He glanced down at their hands quickly, taking his eyes off the road.

“The road, Jon.” Sansa said, teasing, her voice a little quieter this time when she caught his eyes. He didn’t blush this time around.

And so she entwined her fingers through his, admiring how much larger his was, stronger and calloused. 

And then, feeling the nerves turn into a little bit of adrenaline, she pulled his hand to rest on her thigh. 

She heard him give a quick intake of breath, his steering hand gripping the wheel harder now. Sansa just looked straight ahead, watching the other cars go by, and smiled quietly to herself.

When they finally pulled into the country club venue, choosing to park further away from the other cars, she felt the unease settle back into herself. Suddenly, she wasn’t as brave as before, wasn’t in control any longer.

Jon slipped his hand from hers, sliding it onto the bared portion of her thigh and giving it a small squeeze. It was her turn to take a quick breath, squeezing her legs together.

She didn’t miss the little grin on his face when he came around to open her door.

“You’ll be fine. I’m right here with you.” He assured her as they started to walk in. With her heels on, she was the same height as him, staring right into steely grey eyes. She hoped he had enough strength for the both of them.

She just nodded, taking his hand again as they walked through the doors.

\------------------

It was bright. Not like Jon was- it wasn’t comforting or sweet, it was glaring, the glitzy nature of it all. So many gowns and dresses, suits and tuxedos, expensive watches and priceless jewelry. Kings Landing had its rough areas, but it was more than balanced out by the wealthy business moguls that had come to call it home.

“You were right,” Jon whispered into her ear, making her shiver. “It’s definitely a bunch of rich pricks.”

She smiled a little at that, knowing that he could sense the stiffness she’d taken on after walking through the doors. As silly as it was, his rambling helped.

“I just saw the ugliest watch,” He scoffed to her. “Probably worth more than my house, but for what? Guess money can’t buy style.”

Sansa laughed a little at that, knowing  _ exactly  _ who he was talking about. Roose Bolton had an affinity for expensive things that existed just for the sake of being expensive.

“I think I could pass for twenty-one.” Jon said smoothly, nodding towards a waiter carrying tiny flutes of champagne. “Or is this one of those fancy gatherings where they ignore underage drinking?”

Sansa stifled a laugh behind her hand at that. 

“I-” He started, but stopped suddenly. The crowd parted slightly around them, moving naturally as people conversed, and Sansa caught a clear view of Joffrey Baratheon.

He was in a smart, grey suit, a shining red and yellow tie around his neck. He had a snarl on his face, a snarl directed right towards her and Jon.

Jon’s hand came to rest on the small of her back, causing little sparks to go up her spine. 

“Let’s go find your parents.” Jon said simply.

“You  _ want  _ to?” Sansa hissed in horror, taken aback by the statement. She broke away from Joffrey to stare down the boy at her side, and found his face eerily calm and collected.

“We’ll go say hello to them, and then find someplace to hide it out. I thought that was the plan?” Jon offered, still staring off into the distance towards Joffrey.

Sansa nodded, refusing to look back that way. She wouldn’t let him break down her resolve any more than he already had.

On the way, they passed Jeyne, looking gorgeous in a sparkling blue gown. Sansa wished she could tell her how pretty she looked, but she caught one hard, awkward glance, and remembered why she hadn’t talked to the girl in weeks.

Catelyn and Ned Stark were near the front of the ballroom, looking exquisitely put together; a beautiful pair, the two of them, perfect in all appearances. Her mother was wearing her finest pearls, looking absolutely stunning against the rich satin of her purple gown. Even her father looked better than normal, in one of his finest suits, grinning and laughing with one of his coworkers.

And then Sansa saw the boy beside her father, standing tall and proud, the splitting image of her mother. The splitting image of  _ her.  _

“Oh gods.” Sansa whispered when Robb looked over, noticing Sansa and her partner.

His face dropped quickly, a quick change of character in a normally composed face. She’d actually stunned her twin brother, for once, and she felt knots already forming in her stomach.

Jon cleared his throat awkwardly as her father approached them.

“Sansa, you look lovely.” Her father said, a tight smile on his face. He was never as opinionated on her matters, not as much as her mother, but he must’ve surely known what had happened. She smiled nonetheless.

“This is Jon Snow.” Sansa said, putting on her broadest, prettiest smile as Jon carefully extended his hand to shake her father’s. 

To her surprise, Ned Stark blinked at him, so taken aback that his own hand didn’t come to meet Jon’s for a good few seconds. It wasn’t the place to question it, though, especially with the look that Robb and her mother were giving her.

“Nice to meet you, uh, Jon.” Her father said quickly, still taken aback. Jon smiled nervously.

“You as well, sir.” He offered back. When someone came to interrupt them, launching her father into another conversation on some business ordeal, Jon gave her a quick glance.

She raised her eyebrows, giving a quick shake of her head.  _ I have no idea. _

__ Her mother opened her mouth to say something, but Sansa beat her to the mark.

“We’re going to get some air.” Sansa said quickly, knowing her mother would admonish her for it in the morning, but she knew she couldn’t start this conversation, not with the way Robb was glaring daggers at Jon. “Have a wonderful night, mother.”

She ignored her brother.

\-------------------

“You weren’t joking,” Jon sighed, tugging at the tie around his neck, leaning into the decorative brick wall behind him.

“It’s godawful.” Sansa groaned, pressing her hand to her reddened cheeks, trying to calm her pulse. “All they care about is the appearances- they all  _ know  _ what happened, but they’re pretending it didn’t so we can all act like a happy little family. And for once I try and bring someone for myself, someone I actually  _ enjoy-” _

__ She stumbled off on that, feeling Jon’s bemused smirk on her. He was still leaning against that wall, one foot bracing against it, the other grounding him, his hand rubbing the back of his neck as he gave her a grin.

That was how she knew that she was really, truly screwed.

“I didn’t know you enjoyed me,” He teased.

“Oh, hush.” Sansa shot back. “What was it you said?  _ I’ll go to any stupid gala for you-” _

__ He was off the wall then, moving further into the sheltered gardens, and he was kissing her.

One hand was cradled behind her head, whether keeping her closer or keeping her off the bushes behind her, she didn’t know. The other was trailing behind her waist, pulling her to him, and his lips were moving against her, smooth and knowing and tender.

“And I meant it.” Jon said, pressing his forehead to hers, his hands moving to hold either side of her face.

Sansa answered him by pressing her lips right back to his, eager to feel, to touch- gods, she’d be lying if she said she hadn’t imagined it, hadn’t hoped it, and now that it was happening it was more than she’d known she’d wanted. They were getting frenzied now, and he’d swapped them, pushing her back against the wall he’d been at, still warm from before.

His hand came to rest carefully under her chin, around her throat, and that made her whimper a little, as pathetic as it was. Jon bit her lip hard at that, pressing himself fully against her. 

“What the fuck,” A voice called out.

Jon shot back from her as if he’d been stung, his hair disheveled and curls now messy around his darkened eyes. 

“Arya,” Gendry hissed, trying desperately to pull on the girl’s arm. But Arya stood her ground, her arms crossed over her chest as she stared them down.

“Can’t you guys get a fuckin’ room or something?” She scoffed, but Sansa could see that there was no malice in her tonight- she was still angry and snappy as ever, but she wasn’t truly pissed, not like that night at Jon’s house.

Jon opened his mouth to snarl something, but Sansa beat him to it.

“Fuck off, Arya.” Sansa snapped.

It was quiet for a moment, Arya frozen to her spot, Gendry’s arm still on her shoulder, his eyes widened behind her. Even Jon was startled by it, his eyes big.

And then, to her surprise, Arya started laughing.

“Oh gods, this is  _ golden.”  _ Arya cackled, coming closer to them, a grin on her face. “See, Sansa, if you lighten up and stop being such an uptight bitch all the time, we’d get along just great.”

Jon and Gendry were still uneasy, looking between the two, but Sansa felt that, for once, her sister and her were truly on the same side here, both outcasts of the society they were bred and molded into. Failures of it, if you will.

So Sansa grinned back, and Jon relaxed beside her.

“Were you two  _ smoking  _ here?” Jon gaped, nodding to the little white stub between Arya’s fingers, barely lit anymore. Sansa squinted at it, trying to make out what was so  _ wrong  _ about it in the dim lights of the garden, and then the smell hit her square in the face.

“You’re smoking weed at dad’s gala.” Sansa said, a statement rather than a question. Arya just shrugged, not even bothering to grin this time. She looked disheveled, more so than normal, her black jumpsuit stained with what looked like grass. 

“It is what it is.” She offered.

“For the record, I told her it was a bad idea.” Gendry shot back, giving her a dirty look. It hit Sansa then, just how protective this boy was over her sister- from the quiet looks, to the silently trying to reign in her outbursts. She wondered if Arya would even be alive this far without him.

He looked over at Sansa, noticing her eyes watching him, and he quickly looked away, his face reddened. Sansa really, really wished he hadn’t seen those pictures, even if him telling Arya about it had resulted in some weird appreciation between them.

_ Fuck it,  _ Sansa thought, another statement that was probably more Arya than her.

“Well, it’s rude not to share.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, lot happening this chapter. And Jonsa finally got their kiss :)
> 
> I hope Jon isn’t too OOC for everyone’s taste- I was really thinking a teenage Jon Snow would be the quiet, broody type, but joking and sweet around those he really knows. But that’s just my interpretation!
> 
> Now the real question: would you all rather see an Arya or Jon chapter next update? I have a bit planned for Arya’s gala experience, but I also am really thinking about getting into Jon’s head and diving more into the stuff Sandor hinted at this chapter.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So..... I know I had a lot of people hoping for a Jon chapter right now, but after thinking more about my plans for this fic, I really needed an Arya chapter here. The next one will 100% be Jon.
> 
> Also, little soapbox note here: I write fanfic to escape when I get stressed. I don’t spend hours and hours creating plot lines that could rival GRRM’s, and I don’t edit past a quick read-over, either. I know it’s not perfect, I know I spend too long on certain sections I get excited about (cough, the gala, cough) and I know my take on teenage angsty drama isn’t for everyone. But just please remember that I’m writing this not to be published, but just to get my ideas out there as a hobby for myself. Most of my comments have been super nice and kind, but sometimes I get people who don’t like what I’m doing. That’s fair, but please remember that this is NOT my career and no one is required to read and enjoy my work. Thank you :)
> 
> As always, thank you for reading!! I’ve found myself checking my inbox every other hour just to read y’all’s comments- they keep me wanting to write more and more on this fic :)

Sansa was coughing, her face red and eyes watery, desperately hanging onto Jon’s arm for support.

Arya, of course, thought it was fucking hilarious.

“It’s not for everyone,” She chipped in, smirking at her sister- she knew that’d kill her, with her sister’s weird determination to be perfect at  _ everything.  _ Including smoking pot. 

“It tastes like an old couch,” Sansa muttered, a foul look on her pretty face. She shifted, cross-legged in the grass, and tried to pass the tiny blunt to Gendry, who was still giving Arya that uneasy look of his. The  _ are you sure about this  _ look, the one she received at least once a day. 

“I’ll pass,” Gendry muttered, handing it back over to Arya. She rolled her eyes at him, irritated at his weird insistence to play house tonight. 

“We can do something after. Let’s just play it cool, make your parents happy,” He’d told her earlier, his hands shoved awkwardly into his old, hand-me-down brown suit. It had been Tormund’s, once upon a time, and despite the way he’d grown in the past few years, it was still clearly a little too large. Arya like him more for it, mainly because she knew her mother would  _ hate  _ it.

And that pissed her off a little more, honestly, because why should she care what her mom thought? She was just going to steal a few champagne flutes, smoke in the big ass garden-maze outside, and maybe finally steal Roose Bolton’s ugly watch. She’d been practicing, and she was pretty sure she could get away with it if Gendry distracted him.

And, she wanted to go because of Sansa and Joffrey. Not because she cared about Sansa or anything- no, she just wanted to be there if a fight broke out, because Arya would smash his ugly mug. She’d been dreaming of it the past few weeks.

But that definitely wasn’t categorized under Gendry’s idea of  _ let’s just make your parents happy,  _ and so she settled for trying to get stoned while wading through the fountain, until she happened upon her best friend and her sister trying to eat each other's faces.

She was really, really hoping to get high enough to forget that by morning.

Arya didn’t miss the way Jon was rubbing Sansa’s back as she coughed, his suit jacket slung over her shoulders. He was even  _ smiling  _ at her like it was endearing and not annoying as fuck.

“I’m gonna go get something to drink.” Arya announced, shoving her belongings into Gendry’s arms.

He gave her a look, a pointed  _ please don’t leave me with them,  _ and Arya just gave him her best eat-shit grin. He was the one who defended Sansa and Jon, after all.

The gardens were still dim despite the lights scattered throughout, and Arya revelled in the quietness of it all. From deep in the hedges, you could barely hear the gala indoors, could barely hear the fake compliments and business talks and sugary peals of laughter.

She had to keep swatting at incessant insects, cursing as they bit little marks on her bare arms. They’d gone deep into the gardens, so deep that she hadn’t seen another partygoer in nearly half an hour. Which was perfect, really, to smoke, but not so perfect when trying to find her way out.

“Fucks sake.” Arya muttered when she came along yet  _ another  _ dead end, kicking at the useless shrubbery there. A pointless fucking garden, if you asked her.

She heard noise then, and it made her freeze- it wasn’t words, but instead a few rough pants, punctuated by wet noises she really didn’t want to identify. Arya cringed, trying to find a way around the dead end and the two lovebirds she was overhearing.

Arya ducked into another corner of the hedge maze, hoping it would be the way leading back to the clubhouse; instead, she came upon a clearing, hosting exactly what she  _ wasn’t  _ looking for.

She stifled a groan of disgust, stepping back instinctively into the shrub behind her. Lucking, the clearing was large enough that the two didn’t hear her- they were busy at work on a bench, faces connected.  _ At least they have clothes on. _

__ But then Arya’s eyes adjusted to the dim fairy lights lining the clearing, the first good light she’d seen since entering the gardens. She squinted at the couple, surely thinking she was wrong-

_ Oh, fuck. _

__ There was a head of wavy auburn hair, a perfect match to the sister she’d left coughing back deep in the maze. And she could only see the back of it, because the front of it was playing tonsil-hockey with a lanky, blondish-brown haired boy.

That was definitely her brother. And that was definitely Theon Greyjoy.

She  _ almost  _ wanted to laugh. Because a shitty, bitter part of her wanted to interrupt them, to giggle and point at Robb and say  _ you’re just as fake as the rest of us.  _ She couldn’t give two shits if her brother was gay, or bisexual, or anything in-between. But she  _ knew  _ her father and mother would, and fuck- Theon Greyjoy was engaged to Alys Karstark.

Arya didn’t know much about Balon Greyjoy, or his own business. But she  _ did  _ know that Theon was posed to join his father once he finished up his time at university, and had plans to take it over once his father retired- she’d only heard him drunkenly boast about it a million times.

She also knew Balon Greyjoy was a cunt, and that was putting it nicely. Theon was still an asshole, but she’d come to understand that he’d been made into one, kind of like she was, by a shit family. She hoped that still made him- and her- redeemable.

Arya turned to quietly leave, knowing she’d happened upon information even she didn’t want to know. And she prided herself on being nosy.

She ran right into a hard chest behind her.

A pair of hands steadied her, expecting her to yelp, but she just blinked up at familiar golden-brown eyes.

To be fair, Tywin Lannister was just as shocked as she was.

He opened his mouth to say something, his calm demeanor taken aback by the sight of her. If she hadn’t been so shook at the sight of her brother and Greyjoy, she may have grinned up at him.

She took one look back across the clearing, through the scattering of trees, and pushed past the Lannister patriarch. She didn’t give a fuck who he was, she wasn’t about to stand by that clearing any longer than she had to.

He followed.

“Who are you?” He said, his voice stern and clear. It’d been a little hot a few weeks ago, now it was just unnerving. She steeled herself- she’d heard a lot about Tywin Lannister over the years, but had been lucky enough to never make his acquaintance. Until she’d slept with him on accident, of course.

He was in a pressed suit that probably cost more than a small house. She couldn’t help but think of Gendry, in his worn, too-big suit, a stark contrast to the perfectly-dressed man in front of her. His watch was even perfect- not gaudy like Bolton’s, and she itched to steal this one, too, just to show that she could.

She mustered enough to smile up at him in the snarkiest way she could, meeting his cold, calculating gaze. She’d eavesdropped enough on her father’s private conversations to know that it was probably a very, very bad move, but she couldn’t help it, really.

Maybe he’d have her killed. That would be exciting now, wouldn’t it? She’d just wish she could be around for the aftermath of that. Tywin had never formally been convicted of anything, but she’d heard a  _ lot  _ of rumors, most of them supplied from listening in on her father’s late night phone calls in the study. He scared her father, and that should scare her, but all she could think about was what she had over him.

“Arya Stark, nice to meet you.” She responded, sticking out her hand with a peppy enthusiasm.

He froze, his face still stony as he took in a deep breath.

“You didn’t tell me who you were.” He said, still eerily calm. She was hoping for something, some sort of anger or panic, but he was unnervingly calm, catching even  _ her  _ off guard.

“Neither did you,  _ Ty.”  _ She said, determined to keep the eat-shit grin on her face.

He stared her down, face impassive, and she could practically hear the wheels turning in his head, calculating and measuring all the options.

“That was quite a performance.” He settled on, and it took Arya a moment to realize that he’d changed the subject, and even longer to realize why.

“I didn’t see anything.” She said firmly, her smile gone as she met his steely gaze.

His, however, had just started. It was predatory, a small upturn of the corners, and knowing look.

“Your brother is set to take over his father’s industry, I assume?” Tywin said, a wistful look in his eyes.

He continued. “And the Greyjoys- their pursuits are not quite as fruitful as before. There just isn’t a demand for shipmakers, with the current state of Westerosi off-shore ventures.”

Arya gritted her teeth, trying not to give in and lash out at him. No, she didn’t know that shit- and she didn’t  _ care.  _ It was fucked up to give away that secret and ruin both lives, no matter how much of a superficial asshole her brother was. She still remembered times in her childhood, before they were old enough to understand responsibility and what was expected of them, where she and Robb actually got along- playing tag, making mud-pies, falling off jungle gyms. Normal sibling relationships, before they were forced to grow up too fast.

“I don’t think we’ve been  _ really  _ introduced.” Arya said, gritting her teeth into a wolfish grin.

Tywin squinted at her.

“I’m Arya Stark, and I’m sixteen years old, and I'm a junior at Kings Landing University.” Arya said, watching the smile melt into a refined, calculated grimace.

“And you’re the creepy old man who fucked me.” She added in, because she couldn’t resist it. “I think sleeping with a minor would be a lot more  _ interesting  _ to the world than what we _ didn’t _ see back there.”

Tywin Lannister was still appraising her, his face unchanged. He must’ve expected it, must’ve known that little bit she held above him from the moment he found out her real name. She worried she’d really fucked up with her bit of bravado, but to her surprise, he just nodded.

“Perhaps you’re right.” He said simply, but by the thin line of his lips, she felt like it wasn’t over.

She glared one last time, trying to muster all of the hate she held for his family, and she left him in the dark of the garden maze.

\----------------

“What happened?” Gendry asked as soon as he saw her, his face painted with concern.

He’d been waiting at the opening of the garden when she’d finally returned, arms empty, no champagne glass in sight.

Arya looked up at him, seeing the worry in his dark blue eyes, and she made her choice.

“They were out of champagne.” She said simply, shrugging it off.

She hadn’t looked for champagne. She’d gone to the bathroom, gripped the edge of the sink and stared at her reflection, just to ground herself back to reality.

Maybe she’d smoked too much, maybe she was just getting paranoid as fuck for no reason now. But Tywin Lannister fucking terrifyed her, and she hadn’t admitted it to herself until she’d been locked in the clubhouse bathroom, a cold sweat rolling down her back.

“You took that long just to find champagne?” Gendry said, clearly not believing her. 

“Well maybe I had to piss, gods.” Arya snapped at him, maybe a bit rougher than normal, but he just shook his head.

“I’m so tired of this.” Gendry said suddenly, his voice so calm and normal that it made Arya pause in her steps, stopping her trek back into the garden.

She raised an eyebrow. He threw his hands out, gesturing to her, to everything around them, his face exasperated. It wasn’t the Gendry she was used to- usually he just stayed at her side, like a loyal puppy or sidekick or something pure and whole of that sort, ready to reign her in when she got too crazy. And he didn’t question it. 

He didn’t know his parents. He’d grown up in the foster system, had raised himself, had gotten a job and gotten a shitty apartment as soon as he could run away. His way of coping with the shit hand he’d been dealt had been just to do it himself, to keep it all in order and all in control.

And she’d known her parents from the moment she was born. But she almost wished she hadn’t, with the toxicity they bred and the goddamn negligence of it all. Her way of coping was just to do entirely whatever the fuck she wanted, with no order or rules or  _ anything.  _ And it felt damn good.

It was an agreement between them, to respect one another’s coping, but lately he’d been questioning her too damn much.

“You want some order, then?” Arya said, her voice small and quaking, barely contained; Gendry paused, uncertain at her response.

“Go find someone else, then.” She spat. “You fucking  _ know  _ this is what I do- it’s what feels  _ good,  _ and I’ll take anything at this point. You think I’m not fucking sick of it too?”

“Gods, Arya, I just don’t want you to do shit that you can’t take back.” Gendry said. “I just don’t want you to throw it all away-”

“Why the fuck do you care!?” Arya shouted, pressing a firm hand into his chest, pushing hard against him. He stood his ground, looking down at her, refusing to move. “No one asked you to be my mother!”

Gendry’s mouth was open, his jaw clenching and unclenching as he watched her. His chest was heaving, and he was madder than she’d ever seen him, and she wondered if this time she’d really gone too far.

Before he could respond, there was a scream from deeper in the gardens.

Arya froze, her head whipping around- it was followed by shouting, familiar shouting. 

“ _ Get off of him!”  _

Arya pushed off of Gendry, running back into the hedge maze, back towards Sansa’s screams.


End file.
